Hell and High Water
by Khamet
Summary: A dark evil begins to eat at Sejuani's heart after the annihilation of her tribe. Her ambitions turn from ruling the Freljord to exacting revenge on the woman who dared to cut her people down. Is this enough to keep her in motion? [Sejuani x Illaoi] (Slow burn)
1. The Cold Does Not Forgive

**a/n:** Hey, I'm Liz and this is my first work of fanfic. I'm enjoying this experience. I actually suck at League, so I enjoy writing rather than playing.

 **Disclaimer** : League of legends, paraphernalia relating to gameplay, and whatever else falls between belongs to RIOT games!

* * *

The Freljord was not a place where the damned went to be forgiven. It was not a place for the young to thrive. It birthed winds cold enough to remind her inhabitants that she was not a force to be overcome, but endured. However, she did have mercy on the fallen souls, and creatures who chose to stay in her destructive embrace. For their dedication to whatever vice led them, the mighty arms of the Freljord buried the dead so the living may persist against all odds.

Today was another day in which the mother of the mountain ranges would bury her still children. Men and women bearing tattoos and markings of Winter's Claw lay under the velvet sky, their faces turned to the stars they would never see again. Light spilled from the waxing moon and pooled in the recesses of the tribe's stronghold. Burned structures, broken axes, and fragments of ice and rock poked dangerously through the churned snow, their use no longer apparent. An unattended fire burned low, a sentinel to the carnage the mountains allowed to happen. Like the hushed wind, it too waited for the last member of the tribe to fall.

It was no longer a matter of if; but when.

Sejuani was dying.

* * *

Five hours prior to the collapse of her people, Sejuani struggled to hide her annoyance in the face of her tactitians. A man the height and girth of Willump, Nunu's abomination, thrust his finger at a channel between Glaser Port and Gelid Vortex. He traced his thick finger along the blue swirl indicating water and stopped at the base of a mountain. Sejuani could see in his grim face and rigid posture that he fervently believed that he was pointing out the next place of attack from Ashe and Tryndamere, but intuition told her otherwise.

"I cannot see other routes she would take at this time of year," He began. It was the same argument he had been using for the past four days and Sejuani was tired of it.

"I will not risk our success on your blindness." She turned the map so it was facing her and studied it hard. After three days and four sleepless nights she was in no mood to listen to those who opposed her. In the corner of the hut sat one of the few remaining village elders. She was scarcely over 60, but already felt the weight of the mountain on her aging bones. She knew the land would claim her body sooner rather than later; just as the wind would always blow, the water would never run, and the Winter's Claw would remain strong. In her heart she believed in these absolutes and repeated them to anyone who would spare a moment to hear her wisdom. It was today that the older woman would begin to falter in her belief.

A tense moment passed over the table as the leader of the tribe wiped a hand across her face. If she didn't leave she would punch Hoskk so hard he would have an out of body experience.

Without another word, Sejuani threw on her furs and left the hut.

A mild wind played with her short hair, nibbling tentatively at her clothes before giving up and finding a poorly dressed tribesman to prey upon. Around her buzzed the daily life of Winter's Claw: women cleaning and curing the hides of caribou and rabbits while men sat in circles as they sewed pelts and mended clothes. What was absent were the squeals of children and the merry laughter of babies bouncing on their parent's knee. Between frost and the threat of war that stalling prospective mothers, there were fewer than 20 children in the tribe. Sejuani was no sentimental woman. She knew it spelled disaster for her people if children were not in their foreseeable future.

"Good hunting," One of the stable hands nodded in the leader's direction. She returned the greeting with an icy stare that was neither friendly nor unfriendly in nature. Sejuani spared few fond thoughts and kind words on the humans in her life. They were content to treat her with respect and a formal word here and there, knowing she only heard the war drums and not their voices. Men and women left her to the company of her boar, content in knowing the two would lead them to eventual victory over their enemies.

The stable housed Bristle and ten horses, precious spoils from a raid on one of Ashe's convoy. Sejuani paid them little mind and went straight for her trusted companion. She stroked his ears to the rhythm of his heavy breaths. She was too wrapped up in her angry thoughts to hear the visitor enter the stable.

"Sejuani." It was the woman elder. She addressed the princess in a low tone as to not invoke the wrath behind the eyes of the leader. Her effort was not in vain. Sejuani stepped from her boar and lowered her head in the customary sign of respect to one who had fought the cold for longer than 60 years.

"Nettik."

Snatches of conversations could be heard through the thin walls of the leather bound walls. A woman was expressing her dislike of the stitch work someone had done, another laughed loudly at an unheard joke, and life just seemed to carry on outside the fog of Sejuani's mind.

"I have words from the mountain, perhaps from the gods," Nettik stepped toward Bristle with her hand extended. He was happy to have the attention and pushed his wet snout against her open palm. She knew the princess believed only in strength, initiative, and what she could cut down with her bola, but Nettik had once been like her too: bigger and badder than the perceived gods, more enlightened than the Freljord herself, and angry enough to continue the crusade in her heart. She was old now and the gods had cut her down to size, the Freljord had punished her for her pride, and the fire that lit her heart was long dead.

"Deeds, not words." Sejuani's manners were wearing thin and she made very little effort to conceal her sigh of irritation.

"Spoken like the true ruler of the Freljord." Here she leaned against the strong beam supporting the tent. "The plans you have laid will fail." She held up a hand. "You make mistakes from anger- with that same passion you set the course for conquest and lead the Claw to minor victories, but that will not happen today. The wind is not in your favor and I fear it is going to desert us in our time of need."

"Living in fear is not living at all. I will not blindly lead anyone into a pass with no exit," It was hard to not shout at the old woman. Where she saw a good plan, Sejuani only saw defeat.

"You see through a glass dimly."

"I see through the eyes of the warriors before me." She spat viciously. "I was born for conquest."

And she believed it.

* * *

It had taken two hours for Sejuani to regain her composure. She had stormed off to her tent which overlooked the camp. From there she could see her tribe and remind herself why she was the rightful heir to the Freljord- why she _would_ win the power skirmish and stand and the true victor. However, no amount of well laid plans could account for the anger or stress accompanying her ambition. Sejuani knew her recent irritability stemmed from the lack of sleep over the last few days. With the threat of war so close, how could one possibly waste time dreaming? Not she. The past leaders of Winter's Claw were honorable and proud warriors cut from the face of the mountain and tempered by the winds which blasted the frozen land. As their present leader she would uphold tradition and drive a stake through the hearts of her enemies.

The sun was beginning its rapid decent over the jagged hills. There was less than an hour of daylight left; activities took on a feverish pace as men focused more on work than fun and women scraped and beat furs faster.

From a mile beyond the gates of their settlement a dot plodded steadily through the snow. Sejuani had no worry for few knew of her tribe's whereabouts and those that did feared her wrath more than the promise of reward.

She was given a wide berth as she descended and walked through the camp. It was a respectful distance, though many were aware she was in no mood to talk and obliged her by moving away. A few nodded and murmured greetings of 'good hunting' and 'hello' to which she did cursorily nodded.

Sejuani waited for the arrival of news, good or bad, outside the informal gates of her village. The defenses of the Winter's Claw were not easily detectable in the way of overt measures. Fools like Ashe and Tryndamere relied on walls and cities to protect their way of life, but here a skilled warrior would provide more protection than a wall. They would not hide behind another shield.

The messenger greeted the princess and proceeded to relay what information he had gathered. "I am stationed near Glaserport and word has reached that Ashe is in Demacia. A ship was seen leaving "

"Good." Glaserport was a day's walk from her territory, an important area to watch in the event of an attack from one of the other contenders for command of the Freljord. "Take word back that five are to remain at each post." He nodded and turned to depart when Sejuani called out. Nettik's words were gnawing in the back of her mind. "You are to stay- all of you. Do not return until I tell you."

The mental fatigue was beginning to catch up- it had to be if she was considering the ravings of an old woman to be an omen.

The messenger left and took her hopes on his broad shoulders.

* * *

She had fallen asleep? When? _How?_

Cold had settled into her joints and caused them to stiffen uncomfortably. A much needed stretch would cure that, but there was no time. Something _wrong_ was looming overhead.

Sejuani pushed through the opening in her living quarters and fell into the shadow of the night. The sickle moon threw her light over the white snow, drunkenly weaving in and around the territory of the Winter's Wrath. Torches lit with whale fat were warm rubies against the pearly snow.

"Sejuani, good hunting." A mug of cider was thrust into her hands by a smiling bundle of furs. She accepted the drink yet did not lift the mug to her lips.

She ticked back the days in her head. Snowdown was not for another month, Oktoberfest had passed scarcely a week ago, and the other minor holidays were recognized by the few who remembered why they were celebrated. "Tell me the occasion."

"A ship was sunk off shore and it had the symbol of Avarosa. Ashe is gone." The bundled figure produced a grating laugh and wandered off to mingle with other rosy-cheeked individuals.

Sejuani did not know what to feel. A tendril of unease gripped her stomach as she watched her people sharing a moment of success. The orange light from the torches cast menacing shadows across faces, structures, and brows. Suddenly she needed to get away. Now.

Strong hands patted her back and called out praise as she escaped into the unblemished snow of the deserted lands. The wind had cleared the tracks of the visitor and it seemed as if the night was a time to reset so the next day may bring greater news of conquest.

The stars regarded the earth with cold curiosity; content to see how little a warm body meant in the grand scheme of the universe. The planets would rotate through space, seasons would come and go, and no one would care for the people of Winter's Claw.

But Sejuani would.

She looked down at the ale mug and caught sight of her reflection. It shook then went black. Sejuani threw the iron as if she had been bitten. What the fuck just happened?

 _"To what do I owe this pleasure...?"_ The wind carried an familiar voice to the ears of Sejuani. _"Why do you not look as if you're having_ FUN?" The lights in the village blew out.

 _"Hello sister,"_ a ghostly blue claw materialized, heralding the arrival of an ageless evil. Lissandra burst forth from the snow in a spray of black ice. _"It's so good to see you."_ Sarcasm dripped from her words like honey.

"Talk is cheap."

 _"You're right, barbarian. I am here to take what is mine."_

"Then you have come just in time to claim your death. It is long overdue." Sejuani felt for a bola which was not there.

 _"I could cut you a bargain and let you die now like our_ dear _sister, or I could let you watch your savages die."_ The Ice Witch laughed cruelly. _"On second thought, I've already made up my mind. Kneel!"_

The far away stars bore witness to the attack which Lissandra had orchestrated masterfully. They saw the troll king end lives indiscriminately with his frozen club and marveled at how the blind Witch razed a proud lineage with an army of twisted creatures. Another set of eyes drank the sight in and allowed a dark evil to begin brewing in her heart. An evil which was known to corrupt.

Time meant nothing as the shouts and curses dropped out of their chorus one by one. A thin cry rang out, signaling the end of more than just a battle, but the extinction of a whole tribe.

 _"And now for the finale."_ Sejuani was caught up in a tomb of black ice and lifted several meters above her ruined home. Lissandra was terribly pleased with her handiwork: with her sisters out of the way, the Freljord would descend into whatever chaos she fancied. Now all that was left was to seal the deal.

 _"It's a pity you won't be around to see how much fun I can have. Trundle,"_ The Ice Witch propelled herself away from the tomb on a river of black ice. _"Break it."_

The grotesque troll obliged and Sejuani fell down, down, down until she could fall no further. A hand made of broken ice shards had caught her in its palm.

 _"Your death serves a greater purpose."_ The palm closed around her and the last sound to cut the Freljord was a muffled sob.


	2. A Smiling God Does Not Exist

Bilgewater was known for its unscrupulous pirates, filthy ways of life, and the finest rum in Runeterra- items which a fine lady or gentleman wished to drown in the bloody waters below. Few items of value ever wandered into the city and even fewer left, yet there was one fortune which the chain of islands could not mar.

The treasure was born on the mild tides of Buhru where it was cloaked in a veil of functional beauty and baked under an unblinking sun. No amount of polishing could add an an ounce of beauty to an already perfect creation and no cloudy day could hide the light which shone through the rustic disguise. Powers bent on devouring elegance would be starved, for this treasure was seasoned by the salt of the sea and would taste bitter when applied to the life of one who was not in motion.

Those who believed in a smiling god believed in nothing at all. They spoke to dead idols and fell at the feet of painted wood to plead for things already in their grasp. Their meaningless lives dragged on in the undertow of wave makers, scraping and scratching along the obstacles designed to toughen them up.

Illaoi was not like stagnant believers, she was a priestess chosen by She who stayed in motion. When her god called, there was no debate of whether or not to answer. The path was clear and to heed Her voice was to be in motion. It was her duty to bring all to judgment on Runeterra. Sails could carry Illaoi as far as the ocean stretched and where the ocean could not reach, the Nagakaburos would guide her precious treasure.

A town in much need of a miracle allied itself with the tides and brought a focused believer to its shores.

"Watch where you swing that, woman."

Illaoi lifted her arm to address the surly voice coming from under her elbow. It was none other than Mast, the man who struck his former pirate down with, well, the _mast_ of his own ship. Bilgewater left much to be desired in the way or names, but simplicity was saved for identification and complexity for the art of pilfering.

"If you go on with that ugly attitude of yours, no one will ever lay eyes on your face again." She pounded his back heartily and laughed. His expression shifted and an uneasy smile could be seen amid the remaining teeth he had. Decay of both his morals and hygiene had seen to the state of his inner and outer appearance, but he was a man who was living by an unseen code he had written himself. Somewhere docked on this particular harbor was his skimmer, the Rift Splitter, an ironic name for a ship who was almost cleft in two, and he doted upon his hunk of wood as a proud mother hen.

"Are you here to drink with the best of us or judge the worst of us, Priestess?" Mast hawked and spat into his empty cup. Illaoi pretended she didn't notice the tooth which accompanied the saliva. Instead, she shifted the weight of her totem and rested it on an unoccupied barstool.

"My god moves in mysterious ways," she ignored his scoff and continued. "I'm here for a ride."

It was only 2 in the afternoon, far too early for most to get drunk under the table, but late enough for a few early birds to get a jump on their evening activities. This particular tavern was one of the regions busiest; therefore, the chances of finding trouble or being found by it were very high. Besides Illaoi and Mast there were a few others in the _Kraken's Maw_. Unfortunately none were who Illaoi had come for.

"A ride? I've got a special r-" His lewd reply was cut short by a swift slug to the jaw.

"Learn this lesson once and you'll be on your way to true enlightenment, _boy_. My god may smile favorably upon you, but I do not." The woman and her totem disappeared to another corner of the establishment.

Several hours passed and more than once Illaoi got up to stretch her legs and chat with old acquaintances, all the while keeping an eye out for the one the Nagakabuoros had called her to elicit help from.

At half past 9 her patience was rewarded.

The din in _Kraken's Maw_ was reaching a fever pitch- an average for a night such as this. Alcohol ran like blood and it never seemed to stop, not even when a bottle was broken over the head of a patron. Hands groped wildly in the smokey lighting, sometimes connecting with glass and other times ass. Debauchery was a very close friend of booze.

The crowd around the door parted to let a large man through. He thumped a few men and women on the back, much to their drunken delight, and pushed his way through the crowd. He moved like a fish swimming upstream: wriggling and pushing his body towards the chipped and gouged counter.

"Gragas," she threw a muscled arm around his shoulder and squeezed tightly.

"What in the- Illaoi? _Illaoi!_ " It was as if dawn was breaking across his face. His eyes lit up and what mangled teeth remained formed a smile. However, his smile was quickly lost under a cloud of suspicion. "What're you doing in here? Aren't holy men- er, _and_ women- supposed to, uh..." He gestured vaugely in the limited space around him.

"Sobriety is for those who can't hold their drinks."

The woman working behind the counter loudly cursed as she carried a child-sized barrel of ale to Gragas. Alcohol sloshed over the rim as she set it down and scurried off to take care of another order.

"It appears as though I may need your help," Illaoi began. She watched the connoisseur sip, then grimace... and sip again. He hardly looked like he was paying attention. "I said, I could use your help, _Gragas._ " She slammed a hand over his cup before he could take another drink.

"Huh? You need my what, now?"

"Your help. More specifically, your ship. I know you're... busy... Yeah, _busy_ , finding your perfect brew, but I need your boat. Nagakabouros has called me to the north and has provided me with a ride." Here she looked pointedly into the eyes of her friend.

"Your god is in awful needy, isn't she? She's particularly lacking in manners and money, because this boat doesn't run on friendship alone." He grumbled and tried to move her hand, but Illaoi refused to be moved.

"Do not speak of her like she cannot hear you." The eye totem glowed ominously. "Let me board your boat and you'll have your money."

She gave him a once-over and hit his arm playfully. A moment later she was pushing her way to the exit.

"Hmph. All the women here are so bossy." Gragas muttered and lost himself amid the craze of the _Kraken's Maw._

* * *

Dawn was supposed to be the reset button for the dark side of the world. A time in which healing and restoration could patch the wounds inflicted by the previous day, where broken dreams could sail away as new ones arrived full of vim and vigor.

It was too bad that applied everywhere except Bilgewater.

The first milky rays of dawn hovered above the chain of islands and refused to settle on filthy rooftops. Something slithered wetly under the docks and splashed back into its watery home.

Gragas was in a foul mood. The Rot-Eye brandy he drank the previous night was not agreeing with his stomach at all. When he had stumbled out of the tavern around three in the morning; his eyes were swimming with tears from a joke he could hardly remember. Didn't matter. What _did_ matter to him was where that bossy, rock lugging, no good-

"Anything else you'd like to add? Maybe blind worshipper or hard hitting bitch? You think out loud when you're drunk... And by the looks of it, you're _very_."

The bag Illaoi threw down jangled loudly in the dead air and in his aching head. He winced and licked his dry lips. If he had to be up, then he would make the most of his time so he could get back to sleep.

Gragas hefted the bag onto his shoulder and began walking towards a shadowy lump. Weak sunlight had begun to seesaw through the heavy mist; they balanced between this plane of existence, then the next, and back again. Their only audience on this dark walkway were the creaks and moans of boards long neglected.

The owner of the said transportation gingerly pulled the tarp back and turned to his lone passenger. "You better have a good reason to want to leave so early in the morning."

"I have my reasons."

"And my payment, right?"

"Of course, I'm not a deadbeat. I'm not a robber either." A shaft of sunlight lazily swung across her face before continuing its slow journey back into the mist. She rolled her eyes and dug around in the folds of her pants.

"Whew, I spent all night worrying whether you were going to rob me blind." His sarcasm was lost because Illaoi was no longer beside him.

"Is this enough?" A bag, smaller than the first, landed with a _shing_ at his feet. He scooped it up and heard the sound of coins rolling over one another. A puzzled look crossed his face. This was more than enough to cover passage to and from wherever Illaoi wanted to go on Runeterra. Almost _too much_.

"What're you planning to- oh, you've gotten your bag already? Okay. Uh, I guess just tell me where to go..." He watched her scale back up the gangplank - which she had lowered- and look around the deck. Apparently she liked what she saw. The priestess turned back to him and grinned.

"You can go wherever you like. You've already been too kind, now my god will take over from here."

He caught the tail end of the rope as it shivered and whipped from the over the side of his ship. Dumbfounded, he watched his ship- his _favorite_ ship- slowly begin to turn away from the shores of Bilgewater.

"W... Wh..." He stood for a moment, confused. "My ship. _My ship?"_ He shook his fist after the retreating woman. A musical jingle accompanied his efforts and suddenly he recalled the bag of coins he had in his hand.

Two meaty fingers pulled out a coin and held it to the faint light. Gragas gasped and poured the rest of the money into his large hands. Whoever Illaoi's god was, she paid her acolyte handsomely. Perhaps one of these days he would enter a temple and see who this nagaka-whatever-you-call-it was and get on her good side... Then again with this much gold coins he could start a new religion if he wanted. He could start anything!

With that, he stuffed the gold into his deep pockets and disappeared into the coming morning.


	3. A Game of Patience

Illaoi could hardly believe her eyes.

"The Mother drives the wind and sun across the skies. Evidently winged travelers as well. She has taken a liking to you if you are on my ship." The creature she addressed was a bird of irregular dimensions and an intelligence which belied his species. It stood perched on the railing nearest the ship's wheel, silent and observant. It turned to watch her with a large, unblinking eye.

A loud rumble echoed from Illaoi's stomach. She laughed and disappeared into the captain's quarters, emerging a minute later with enough food to share with her new passenger. He seemed to enjoy that immensely.

The two voyagers shared a meal and few words. Up close Illaoi could see the bird's plumage was not designed to withstand the icy climate; therefore someone out in this dead expanse was missing this handsome catch. Perhaps they could do without him for a bit longer.

It appeared her guest did not share the same sentiment. Like a blue firework, feathers erupted from the bird. Two strokes later the bird was out of arms reach and on his way to his unseen caretaker. Along with the remainder of her lunch.

* * *

It was hard for Illaoi to keep track of time and distance in the thick fog surrounding her vessel. What she thought was an hour ago may have been two or three, or perhaps the jagged peaks far away were the spines of a sleeping dragon rather than a mountain range. _Anything was possible_ , she mused.

Ice floes drifted past the ship on choppy waters, knocking every now and then to see if the wood was built with care. So far it had stood up to the test and Illaoi was impressed with Gragas' good judgement. As she maneuvered around hazy shapes and dark outlines, she spared a moment to think about the life she had left behind in Bilgewater.

The settlements there were too filthy and depraved to call home, yet what was a family, if not a bit crazed and sinful? Someone had to bring them light and that was a position she could gladly fill; not for the sake of the damned, but for the Great Mother who called her to stay. And when her god called her to move across the world, her home would be wherever the compass stopped.

As of now, the compass was guiding her to the right... just past the next ice floe... and then gradually to the left again. The wind that filled the sails was one of wrath and ill will. In order to preserve her transportation from damage, Illaoi had collapsed the main sail and left the two smaller ones open. Managing a 70 by 40 foot ship was hard work, no doubt about it, though it proved Nagakabouros called for the strong to lead by example and the weak to learn. Illaoi would never have seen this new and dangerous world had she not proven herself over and over again.

Ultimately she had forged a relationship few had the privilege of experiencing: Illaoi believed in a god who believed in her.

It was that simple.

Her devotion to the Great Mother was deep and intense. Wild, fast, but never blind. She walked with her god, eyes open and ears tuned to the heartbeat of the one who called. However, as close as she was to the divine, she could not neglect her humanity and deep flaws. Her physical strength could carry her farther than any human and her mental fortitude could deflect any attacks upon her personage, though these characteristics could also get Illaoi into trouble. The doubt she suffered could not be easily remedied due to barriers she had placed in her mind and the strong-willed woman she was known to be rarely gave way under the application of tender words. The maxim 'we are our own worst enemy' was unfortunately true.

The nose of the ship narrowly missed an ice floe. It had snuck up to them in the gloom and reared its head moments before impact. Nagakabouros intervened at the last second, though she had not been happy. A sharp sting to her rear was enough reminder for Illaoi to clear her mind and focus.

If time moved forward, no one was the wiser.

The clothes Illaoi had purchased before embarking on her journey north proved to be invaluable. Admittedly, it was difficult obtaining animal pelts but nothing was too hard for Nagakabouros. The faith she had in her disciple gave Illaoi the confidence to swagger down the docks in search of the most crooked dealer on this side of the Serpent Isles. With nothing to hide and everything to gain the outlaw she sought was found haggling with a man who still possessed morals and too much money in his pocket.

BloodTide was what he called himself. An ugly name for an ugly man, though few had the guts to tell him that and even fewer had guts leaving his presence. He was known for acquiring elusive products as well as disemboweling men who did not share in his fantasy of controlling the southern isles. On the list of islands he wished to dominate was Buhru and that did not sit well with the priestess at all. She'd settle her grievances with her fists.

"...this price is outrageous."

"You know what is outrageous? _You wasting my time!_ I feed men like you to the serpents."

"Then it's time you dealt with a woman." Illaoi inserted herself into the conversation without preamble. The smaller man on the losing end of the negotiation scuttled away under the withering gaze of BloodTide and his grunts. It was time to get down to business. The moment had come for the dangerous woman of Bilgewater to parlay with the dirtiest scum to ever disgrace the sea.

The pirate knew little of what hot water he had fallen into.

* * *

It was some time before Illaoi's feathered acquaintance returned.

"You've got some nerve," She regarded him coldly from under the hood of her parka. In the time that had passed between their first meeting and this one, weather conditions had deteriorated. A steady snow had forced her to close another sail and rely on one. She felt confident in her decision to protect the sails from becoming too heavy and tearing, though it slowed her down considerably.

The bird appeared not at all affected. He turned his head this way and that from his perch on the railing, occasionally ruffling his feathers.

"What gift do you bring me this time? Your company is cheap." She stared past him to where the shore could be seen. The fog had lifted and with it the mystique of the sea. All she wanted now was to-

 _Thump._

An orange had fallen from the bird. A fresh one too. It could not have come from him. Perhaps it came from _him..._ The one who knew the rocking of the waves was not that far from the rocking of two bodies. Gangplank was somewhere in the same waters chasing down the likes of Sarah Fortune. For his sake and hers, Illaoi hoped he caught up to that skank and drowned her.

"Where did you get that?" Illaoi took a moment to remember she was talking to a bird. She let go of the wheel and bent to retrieve the fruit from where it had rolled. However, the bird was not done. It snatched it up once more and was now three meters off the port side.

"Fool! Come back!" There was only so much 'avian entertainment' one could take. Illaoi temporarily forgot her mission and gave chase. The creature obviously knew where it was going. It remained a good distance ahead of the pursuing ship, never letting the angry woman get too close or too far.

Finally it stopped over a sloped hunk of ice and remained there until the priestess had caught up.

"I eat your kind for dinner!" Illaoi shouted. Already she was at the railing closest to the floe, ready to wring the skinny little neck of that damned bird. "I'm going to kill-"

The rest of her threat was cut off by a hoarse voice.

"Hey, don't shoot the messenger."

* * *

Her name was Quinn. She was an envoy from Demacia dispatched to take stock of the recent events in the Freljord. Oh, and the rude bird's name was Valor, but no one was asking.

Quinn's wan face poked out from a borrowed woolen blanket. In her raspy voice she relayed the events which had left her stranded in the middle of nowhere: Three and a half days had passed since her ship had been destroyed miles off Queen Ashe's stronghold and no other ships had passed this way to retrieve her. Valor had been away from the ship when tragedy struck and upon his return he couldn't drag Quinn further than the closest ice floe. Her body was too water-logged to try and pull closer to land.

"There goes Val, stealing all the glory again," Quinn ended her narrative by running her hand over the silky feathers on Valor's back.

Despite the bird's help, Quinn looked like shit. Her hair hung in lank strips around her ashen face, blisters from frostbite clung to her exposed skin like lesions, and her clothes were no closer to drying than they were to fly. Still, she insisted she was fine and turned the focus of the interrogation on Illaoi. Her appearance in the Freljord was not unexplainable, though the timing was too close to be coincidental. Who was she working for? Demacia- no likely! Noxus, eh that'd be a stretch. Not to worry, Quinn did not give up easily and she would wheedle the information out eventually.

"You still have't answered my question."

"That's because I do not answer to you. My work is outside of your queens and conflicts."

Illaoi had brought them 300 yards from the shore where she hefted the anchor over the rails and began reorganizing her pack. Quinn stood, albeit rather shaky, and joined Illaoi. All she had with her from the wreck was her crossbow and the clothes she managed to keep on her person.

"Demacia is counting on Valor and I. Our mission is as important as your is, so I hope you don't mind if we join."

"Do what you must in whatever name you desire. My god is calling."

* * *

"How do you know where to go?"

"Nagakabouros guides all."

"Are they evil?"

"Good? Evil? Why should we care for such things?"

Illaoi, Quinn, and Valor were traveling through what seemed to be an endless countryside. Snow hugged everything from the smallest stone to the highest peak.

"It's always winter here in the Freljord." Quinn remarked after what could only be interpreted as the end to the previous conversation. Illaoi's bland reaction to the landscape was not she expected for someone traveling from the southernmost ports. The large woman kept her head down and continued to place one foot in front of the other, always following the 'god compass' she spoke of. The religious totem had made the journey from the ship to land and it rested firmly in the curve of Illaoi's neck and shoulder.

"Freljord? An unusual name for an unusual place. I prefer my water moving, but this is a nice change. What people live here?"

They shifted direction slightly and their conversation lingered for a minute in their bootprints.

"Three tribes- sisters," Quinn answered after a few beats. "Their fighting for the upper hand has divided the land."

"Surely three people don't occupy this land alone. Where are the rest?"

"Splintered."

It was a long time before anyone pierced the silence of the Freljord. With nothing to add to the conversation, Valor took wing and followed from a half mile above the party. From his vantage point he could see small rodents scampering across the snow in their white pelts, unaware they were being watched. Evergreens stood in a tall, neat formation in preparation for their withered neighbors return. Beyond the line of trees was a trail of churned snow.

"Hey," Quinn grabbed Illaoi's arm and pulled her in the direction Valor had taken. "He's got something."

"A trail." Illaoi saw the agitated snow moments later. She grinned and began walking with renewed vigor.

"There's always a trail," Quinn agreed and picked up her pace.

* * *

Bristle stiffened at the sound of approaching feet. It had been at least a day since he had last moved and the snow was piled around him in knee-deep drifts. Cradled under the protection of his thick neck was the broken body of Sejuani. When he had first found her, she was oozing blood from multiple puncture wounds and a cut running the length of her torso. Had it not been for her armor and furs, she'd have been dead within hours.

With his tongue Bristle had kept her extremities warm and staved off the worst of frostbite. It was unclear how long the boar could keep Death at bay, but he could feel his master's time drawing to a close. He was so tired. His life was winding down as well.

Perhaps the footsteps was Death meeting him halfway.

* * *

Kindred watched Illaoi's party stop a healthy distance from the boar. They were nearly undetectable on the incline Lamb had chosen. Her white pelt aided with blending in, but Wolf was much harder to disguise. His black body and fidgety habits would be noticeable to anyone or anything looking hard enough.

Wolf had led them to a set of tracks and they had followed it where Bristle lay protectively over their prey. The person he was protecting was so close... so tantalizing. All things, great and small, died. Oh! Wolf could not wait!

Except that he could. And that was exactly what he and Lamb were doing.

"Wolf." Lamb motioned for him to stay while she flanked the other side of the party. This fight would be a two on two and Lamb felt confident about their element of surprise. The two women were in deep conversation about something trivial and wouldn't notice her sneaking around the other side.

She crept around to the other side, wholly unaware of the other set of eyes watching her.

* * *

Valor needed no directions to understand his role in the next segment of events. His years of accompanying Quinn allowed him to catch rare glimpses of Death, or _Kindred,_ as they preferred to be called. He recognized the masked face of Lamb and knew Wolf would not be far behind. It was now or never.

"Val, what the hell?" Quinn exclaimed. Valor had gone straight for Bristle's eyes with his sharp talons. They raked harmlessly through his fur, but the effect had been achieved. The enraged boar reared back and took a swipe with his tusks. Valor was too quick for that! He dodged with little effort and went again for the eyes.

Wolf could not take the excitement. Already riled up from seeing how close they were to feasting, Lamb's warning fell on deaf ears. It was time for Wolf to take action!

Illaoi watched the whole display unravel in the matter of seconds. Lamb exploded from her hiding spot to join the fray. She came straight for Quinn and body slammed her to the ground. Wolf lunged for Valor's throat, but was interrupted by a stone relic colliding with his face.

" _I like it when they fight back!_ "

"Foolish spirit, begone!" A tentacle cracked Wolf's mask and sent him into a tailspin. Lamb savagely kicked Quinn away. She advanced on Illaoi like a jungle cat: head low, body tense.

"You can't suppress us, _priestess._ Kindred is the end to all."

"Many die. Worthy souls find new forms." Illaoi circled slowly, as did Lamb.

"Doesn't your saying go, 'We are not one soul... we are many.' We know you, Illaoi. All your tricks, all your convictions."

"It is said the devil can quote scripture, I did not realize you were so well versed!" The priestess delivered a solid blow to Lamb's chest. Wolf found his mark in Illaoi's shoulder and clamped down. Lamb regained her footing and reached for her bow. Flashbacks of the previous afternoon flooded her mind and she recalled throwing her weapon where it could do no harm to her cherished soul mate.

" _Now, Lamb! They are no match for us!_ " Wolf urged his companion on, but she was already backing away.

"Few are, dear Wolf. We will let them live to see the error of crossing our path."

Wolf reluctantly disengaged and obediently chased after Lamb's retreating form. Just like that the skirmish was over.

Illaoi watched death's messengers for a long time. Eventually the sound of Quinn emptying her stomach was enough to break the spell.

"That bird of yours is legitimately crazy. Someone is going to eat him one day." Illaoi looked at Valor who managed to look ruffled _and_ smug at the same time.

Quinn buried her expelled lunch under a mound of snow. "I'm glad that's done... whatever _that_ was. I guess the test is to see if Sejuani is still kicking. That bitch is all steel."

Illaoi threw her head back and laughed. A ghostly tentacle shot out from her relic and pulled the soul forcefully from Sejuani's prone body.

"Done? Ha! The real test begins now!"

* * *

 **a/n:** Quick shout out to the kind people who have commented, followed, and faved. I appreciate you guys a lot :)


	4. A Fool and Her Spirit

Illaoi could hardly believe her eyes.

"The Mother drives the wind and sun across the skies. Evidently winged travelers as well. She has taken a liking to you if you are on my ship." The creature she addressed was a bird of irregular dimensions and an intelligence which belied his species. It stood perched on the railing nearest the ship's wheel, silent and observant. It turned to watch her with a large, unblinking eye.

A loud rumble echoed from Illaoi's stomach. She laughed and disappeared into the captain's quarters, emerging a minute later with enough food to share with her new passenger. He seemed to enjoy that immensely.

The two voyagers shared a meal and few words. Up close Illaoi could see the bird's plumage was not designed to withstand the icy climate; therefore someone out in this dead expanse was missing this handsome catch. Perhaps they could do without him for a bit longer.

It appeared her guest did not share the same sentiment. Like a blue firework, feathers erupted from the bird. Two strokes later the bird was out of arms reach and on his way to his unseen caretaker. Along with the remainder of her lunch.

* * *

It was hard for Illaoi to keep track of time and distance in the thick fog surrounding her vessel. What she thought was an hour ago may have been two or three, or perhaps the jagged peaks far away were the spines of a sleeping dragon rather than a mountain range. _Anything was possible_ , she mused.

Ice floes drifted past the ship on choppy waters, knocking every now and then to see if the wood was built with care. So far it had stood up to the test and Illaoi was impressed with Gragas' good judgement. As she maneuvered around hazy shapes and dark outlines, she spared a moment to think about the life she had left behind in Bilgewater.

The settlements there were too filthy and depraved to call home, yet what was a family, if not a bit crazed and sinful? Someone had to bring them light and that was a position she could gladly fill; not for the sake of the damned, but for the Great Mother who called her to stay. And when her god called her to move across the world, her home would be wherever the compass stopped.

As of now, the compass was guiding her to the right... just past the next ice floe... and then gradually to the left again. The wind that filled the sails was one of wrath and ill will. In order to preserve her transportation from damage, Illaoi had collapsed the main sail and left the two smaller ones open. Managing a 70 by 40 foot ship was hard work, no doubt about it, though it proved Nagakabouros called for the strong to lead by example and the weak to learn. Illaoi would never have seen this new and dangerous world had she not proven herself over and over again.

Ultimately she had forged a relationship few had the privilege of experiencing: Illaoi believed in a god who believed in her.

It was that simple.

Her devotion to the Great Mother was deep and intense. Wild, fast, but never blind. She walked with her god, eyes open and ears tuned to the heartbeat of the one who called. However, as close as she was to the divine, she could not neglect her humanity and deep flaws. Her physical strength could carry her farther than any human and her mental fortitude could deflect any attacks upon her personage, though these characteristics could also get Illaoi into trouble. The doubt she suffered could not be easily remedied due to barriers she had placed in her mind and the strong-willed woman she was known to be rarely gave way under the application of tender words. The maxim 'we are our own worst enemy' was unfortunately true.

The nose of the ship narrowly missed an ice floe. It had snuck up to them in the gloom and reared its head moments before impact. Nagakabouros intervened at the last second, though she had not been happy. A sharp sting to her rear was enough reminder for Illaoi to clear her mind and focus.

If time moved forward, no one was the wiser.

The clothes Illaoi had purchased before embarking on her journey north proved to be invaluable. Admittedly, it was difficult obtaining animal pelts but nothing was too hard for Nagakabouros. The faith she had in her disciple gave Illaoi the confidence to swagger down the docks in search of the most crooked dealer on this side of the Serpent Isles. With nothing to hide and everything to gain the outlaw she sought was found haggling with a man who still possessed morals and too much money in his pocket.

BloodTide was what he called himself. An ugly name for an ugly man, though few had the guts to tell him that and even fewer had guts leaving his presence. He was known for acquiring elusive products as well as disemboweling men who did not share in his fantasy of controlling the southern isles. On the list of islands he wished to dominate was Buhru and that did not sit well with the priestess at all. She'd settle her grievances with her fists.

"...this price is outrageous."

"You know what is outrageous? _You wasting my time!_ I feed men like you to the serpents."

"Then it's time you dealt with a woman." Illaoi inserted herself into the conversation without preamble. The smaller man on the losing end of the negotiation scuttled away under the withering gaze of BloodTide and his grunts. It was time to get down to business. The moment had come for the dangerous woman of Bilgewater to parlay with the dirtiest scum to ever disgrace the sea.

The pirate knew little of what hot water he had fallen into.

* * *

It was some time before Illaoi's feathered acquaintance returned.

"You've got some nerve," She regarded him coldly from under the hood of her parka. In the time that had passed between their first meeting and this one, weather conditions had deteriorated. A steady snow had forced her to close another sail and rely on one. She felt confident in her decision to protect the sails from becoming too heavy and tearing, though it slowed her down considerably.

The bird appeared not at all affected. He turned his head this way and that from his perch on the railing, occasionally ruffling his feathers.

"What gift do you bring me this time? Your company is cheap." She stared past him to where the shore could be seen. The fog had lifted and with it the mystique of the sea. All she wanted now was to-

 _Thump._

An orange had fallen from the bird. A fresh one too. It could not have come from him. Perhaps it came from _him..._ The one who knew the rocking of the waves was not that far from the rocking of two bodies. Gangplank was somewhere in the same waters chasing down the likes of Sarah Fortune. For his sake and hers, Illaoi hoped he caught up to that skank and drowned her.

"Where did you get that?" Illaoi took a moment to remember she was talking to a bird. She let go of the wheel and bent to retrieve the fruit from where it had rolled. However, the bird was not done. It snatched it up once more and was now three meters off the port side.

"Fool! Come back!" There was only so much 'avian entertainment' one could take. Illaoi temporarily forgot her mission and gave chase. The creature obviously knew where it was going. It remained a good distance ahead of the pursuing ship, never letting the angry woman get too close or too far.

Finally it stopped over a sloped hunk of ice and remained there until the priestess had caught up.

"I eat your kind for dinner!" Illaoi shouted. Already she was at the railing closest to the floe, ready to wring the skinny little neck of that damned bird. "I'm going to kill-"

The rest of her threat was cut off by a hoarse voice.

"Hey, don't shoot the messenger."

* * *

Her name was Quinn. She was an envoy from Demacia dispatched to take stock of the recent events in the Freljord. Oh, and the rude bird's name was Valor, but no one was asking.

Quinn's wan face poked out from a borrowed woolen blanket. In her raspy voice she relayed the events which had left her stranded in the middle of nowhere: Three and a half days had passed since her ship had been destroyed miles off Queen Ashe's stronghold and no other ships had passed this way to retrieve her. Valor had been away from the ship when tragedy struck and upon his return he couldn't drag Quinn further than the closest ice floe. Her body was too water-logged to try and pull closer to land.

"There goes Val, stealing all the glory again," Quinn ended her narrative by running her hand over the silky feathers on Valor's back.

Despite the bird's help, Quinn looked like shit. Her hair hung in lank strips around her ashen face, blisters from frostbite clung to her exposed skin like lesions, and her clothes were no closer to drying than they were to fly. Still, she insisted she was fine and turned the focus of the interrogation on Illaoi. Her appearance in the Freljord was not unexplainable, though the timing was too close to be coincidental. Who was she working for? Demacia- no likely! Noxus, eh that'd be a stretch. Not to worry, Quinn did not give up easily and she would wheedle the information out eventually.

"You still have't answered my question."

"That's because I do not answer to you. My work is outside of your queens and conflicts."

Illaoi had brought them 300 yards from the shore where she hefted the anchor over the rails and began reorganizing her pack. Quinn stood, albeit rather shaky, and joined Illaoi. All she had with her from the wreck was her crossbow and the clothes she managed to keep on her person.

"Demacia is counting on Valor and I. Our mission is as important as your is, so I hope you don't mind if we join."

"Do what you must in whatever name you desire. My god is calling."

* * *

"How do you know where to go?"

"Nagakabouros guides all."

"Are they evil?"

"Good? Evil? Why should we care for such things?"

Illaoi, Quinn, and Valor were traveling through what seemed to be an endless countryside. Snow hugged everything from the smallest stone to the highest peak.

"It's always winter here in the Freljord." Quinn remarked after what could only be interpreted as the end to the previous conversation. Illaoi's bland reaction to the landscape was not she expected for someone traveling from the southernmost ports. The large woman kept her head down and continued to place one foot in front of the other, always following the 'god compass' she spoke of. The religious totem had made the journey from the ship to land and it rested firmly in the curve of Illaoi's neck and shoulder.

"Freljord? An unusual name for an unusual place. I prefer my water moving, but this is a nice change. What people live here?"

They shifted direction slightly and their conversation lingered for a minute in their bootprints.

"Three tribes- sisters," Quinn answered after a few beats. "Their fighting for the upper hand has divided the land."

"Surely three people don't occupy this land alone. Where are the rest?"

"Splintered."

It was a long time before anyone pierced the silence of the Freljord. With nothing to add to the conversation, Valor took wing and followed from a half mile above the party. From his vantage point he could see small rodents scampering across the snow in their white pelts, unaware they were being watched. Evergreens stood in a tall, neat formation in preparation for their withered neighbors return. Beyond the line of trees was a trail of churned snow.

"Hey," Quinn grabbed Illaoi's arm and pulled her in the direction Valor had taken. "He's got something."

"A trail." Illaoi saw the agitated snow moments later. She grinned and began walking with renewed vigor.

"There's always a trail," Quinn agreed and picked up her pace.

* * *

Bristle stiffened at the sound of approaching feet. It had been at least a day since he had last moved and the snow was piled around him in knee-deep drifts. Cradled under the protection of his thick neck was the broken body of Sejuani. When he had first found her, she was oozing blood from multiple puncture wounds and a cut running the length of her torso. Had it not been for her armor and furs, she'd have been dead within hours.

With his tongue Bristle had kept her extremities warm and staved off the worst of frostbite. It was unclear how long the boar could keep Death at bay, but he could feel his master's time drawing to a close. He was so tired. His life was winding down as well.

Perhaps the footsteps was Death meeting him halfway.

* * *

Kindred watched Illaoi's party stop a healthy distance from the boar. They were nearly undetectable on the incline Lamb had chosen. Her white pelt aided with blending in, but Wolf was much harder to disguise. His black body and fidgety habits would be noticeable to anyone or anything looking hard enough.

Wolf had led them to a set of tracks and they had followed it where Bristle lay protectively over their prey. The person he was protecting was so close... so tantalizing. All things, great and small, died. Oh! Wolf could not wait!

Except that he could. And that was exactly what he and Lamb were doing.

"Wolf." Lamb motioned for him to stay while she flanked the other side of the party. This fight would be a two on two and Lamb felt confident about their element of surprise. The two women were in deep conversation about something trivial and wouldn't notice her sneaking around the other side.

She crept around to the other side, wholly unaware of the other set of eyes watching her.

* * *

Valor needed no directions to understand his role in the next segment of events. His years of accompanying Quinn allowed him to catch rare glimpses of Death, or _Kindred,_ as they preferred to be called. He recognized the masked face of Lamb and knew Wolf would not be far behind. It was now or never.

"Val, what the hell?" Quinn exclaimed. Valor had gone straight for Bristle's eyes with his sharp talons. They rakes harmlessly through his fur, but the effect had been achieved. The enraged boar reared back and took a swipe with his tusks. Valor was too quick for that! He dodged with little effort and went again for the eyes.

Wolf could not take the excitement. Already riled up from seeing how close they were to feasting, Lamb's warning fell on deaf ears. It was time for Wolf to take action!

Illaoi watched the whole display unravel in the matter of seconds. Lamb exploded from her hiding spot to join the fray. She came straight for Quinn and body slammed her to the ground. Wolf lunged for Valor's throat, but was interrupted by a stone relic colliding with his face.

" _I like it when they fight back!_ "

"Foolish spirit, begone!" A tentacle cracked Wolf's mask and sent him into a tailspin. Lamb savagely kicked Quinn away. She advanced on Illaoi like a jungle cat: head low, body tense.

"You can't suppress us, _priestess._ Kindred is the end to all."

"Many die. Worthy souls find new forms." Illaoi circled slowly, as did Lamb.

"Doesn't your saying go, 'We are not one soul... we are many.' We know you, Illaoi. All your tricks, all your convictions."

"It is said the devil can quote scripture, I did not realize you were so well versed!" The priestess delivered a solid blow to Lamb's chest. Wolf found his mark in Illaoi's shoulder and clamped down. Lamb regained her footing and reached for her bow. Flashbacks of the previous afternoon flooded her mind and she recalled throwing her weapon where it could do no harm to her cherished soul mate.

" _Now, Lamb! They are no match for us!_ " Wolf urged his companion on, but she was already backing away.

"Few are, dear Wolf. We will let them live to see the error of crossing our path."

Wolf reluctantly disengaged and obediently chased after Lamb's retreating form. Just like that the skirmish was over.

Illaoi watched death's messengers for a long time. Eventually the sound of Quinn emptying her stomach was enough to break the spell.

"That bird of yours is legitimately crazy. Someone is going to eat him one day." Illaoi looked at Valor who managed to look ruffled _and_ smug at the same time.

Quinn buried her expelled lunch under a mound of snow. "I'm glad that's done... whatever _that_ was. I guess the test is to see if Sejuani is still kicking. That bitch is all steel."

Illaoi threw her head back and laughed. A ghostly tentacle shot out from her relic and pulled the soul forcefully from Sejuani's prone body.

"Done? Ha! The real test begins now!"

* * *

 **a/n:** Lmao that fight was so anti-climactic. Just a quick heads up: If updates are really behind you can check my profile to see what the hold up is. However, if you're cool waiting that's rad too.

Oh! Quick shout out to the kind people who have commented, followed, and faved. I appreciate you guys a lot :)


	5. Gods and Monsters

On a good day Quinn was charming, on a rainy day she could be mistaken for polite, but on a sleepless day _and_ night she was an absolute terror.

"Open the fucking gate, you goblin."

"That's not how you ask for a favor. Who did you learn your manners from?" The door swung open regardless. "Willump and- _A_ _varosa on a broomstick_!"

"Not quite, but a close second. Oh Christ, you brought your sasquatch. I don't have time for this. Move, kid, we can't get caught for obvious reasons." Quinn pushed past the young boy who had answered her summons. His eyes and mouth had frozen in the shape of an 'O'. "Don't stare, it's rude. Where's _your_ manners?" The ragtag group following the huntress were not one of the city's usual guests: Bristle, Sejuani!- _scary!_ -, and a dark lady.

"If you breathe a word about us being here, Valor's shadow will be the last thing you see. Got it, Nunu?"

He nodded and signaled Willump to close the gate.

"Wait," Quinn waved her arm for the door to remain open. "Bristle, you're staying outside. You're too big, too noticeable. Illaoi, you're carrying Sejuani from here. Look, shut up, Nunu, I know I'm being rude." She led the 2,000 pound boar back outside and gave him a smack on his rump. He went without a fuss, evidently too tired to gore her. "Close it."

Willump, completely unfazed by the nighttime visitors, gladly obliged.

"Get on and go back to bed." Quinn half pushed half threw Nunu onto the broad back of his yeti. The boy got over his initial shock and wriggled out of her grasp.

"Back to bed? Who said I was asleep? I'm 8 and my bed time is whenever I want it to be," Nunu stood waist high to Quinn in his pajamas. His little feet were outfitted with slippers and the unbuttoned tails of his coat flapped merrily beside him. "Plus I let you in, so you better-"

"Shut up, _shut up_ , keep your voice down. I'll explain later. Now go."

"Fine." He poorly stifled a yawn. "Let's make tracks." In the light of the kerosene lamps, Nunu and Willump did as they were told.

"A friend?" Illaoi watched Quinn kick snow over their footprints. Valor surveyed her work with mild amusement and offered a half hearted wing to help mask their arrival.

"Something like that. This way."

They crossed a wooden gangway spanning the frozen canal then took a narrow passage between two buildings. Quinn kept the three of them in the shadows as much as she could. Their goal, she had explained, was to slip into Ashe's kingdom undetected, head for the west end, and pay a visit to one of Quinn's old friends.

"She owes me a favor." Quinn replied to Illaoi's impassive expression. "We're only few blocks away."

The 20 minute walk was nothing in comparison to the death march Illaoi had led them on 22 hours prior. After their encounter with Kindred, Illaoi had assumed leadership and under her strict supervision they walked the grueling distance between what was once Winter's Claw and Frostheld, Ashe's kingdom. Quinn's eyes were ringed with exhaustion and she could barely keep her eyes open through the whole ordeal, but 'helpful' smacks from Illaoi's god kept her awake... and slightly irritated.

"Walk quickly." They were now in the deep shadow of the castle. It rose tall and majestic like the mountains around it. The Freljord could not have designed it better if it tried. The hands that had built this magnificent castle were long dead, though there were some creatures and magics old enough to recall the first stone being laid all those years ago. No guards stood in the outer courtyard as a symbol of open trust the queen granted her people.

From the brief description Quinn had given of the sisters' power struggle, the priestess assumed Sejuani had never seen the crowning work of Avarosa's hands. It was too bad she was not able to see it now either. The woman in her arms was growing heavy, a sure sign that Illaoi's indefatigable spirit was both admirable and woefully human. Sejuani's skin was deathly pale in contrast to the bloodied clothes she wore. Kindred may have forfeited its chance to claim her life, but it did not take that defeat lightly. Illaoi was almost certain the spirits were dogging their steps.

The shadow of the citadel fell behind them. With their cover gone, Quinn picked up her heels and led them down another side street. The only sounds peppering the air were the merry laughs of men and women drinking in the warm company of friends. It was well past midnight, so the chances of being noticed by a sober pair of eyes were slim.

Their short journey through Frostheld ended at the doorstep of a rather unremarkable building. They had passed shops on either side of the street, all of which were labeled according to what purpose they served: leather working, shoe making, tailoring. However, as they progressed the stone structures had become more spread out until there was only one building left. In the light of Illaoi's relic the sign read 'Apothecary' in black letters.

Quinn wasted no time in second guessing whether or not the occupant was awake. Just as she was about to knock, the door swung open and Soraka greeted the trio with a dark scowl.

"What have you done?"

"Hello to you too."

* * *

The kitchen was not where Illaoi assumed a hospital to be. Jars of all sizes were strewn across the table in no particular order: some were full of viscous liquids while others held foul smelling powders and leaves. To an untrained eye, it appeared some sort of alchemy was going on under the guise of medicine.

Illaoi had little time to wonder if the apothecary was woman of the craft or cure because the argument was winding up again for another round.

Quinn stood with her back to Soraka and pretended to be absorbed in the mess on the table. Though her posture was nonchalant, her attitude reflected that of a coiled spring.

"I don't see what the big deal is," She picked a glass jar at random and brought it up to her nose. "Yuck. Why do you do this to yourself?" She turned and held the jar out for Soraka to see.

"Why have you done this?" The jar was ignored. Soraka was too busy knotting and unknotting her hands to take notice of Quinn. She walked the length of the room, pausing every once and a while to rub the back of her hands before resuming her fevered pace. _"Why Quinn?_ You know I-" She let out an angry snort. "I can't just leave someone to die. But this?! _Why?_ "

In the light of the raging fireplace, Sejuani lay deathlike on a bed tucked into the corner. Ice still clung to her clothes and eyelashes; she was so deathly still. Frostbite had turned her fingertips and earlobes black. For those familiar with Freljord's nasty bite they knew there was no medicine that could reverse such profound damage. She was too far gone, even for a lowly apothecary.

"Oh my gods, oh my gods, oh my gods," the healer repeated over and over again. The longer she paced the further the creases in her forehead deepened.

"I hate to say it-" Quinn began.

"Then don't. I know what you're going to-"

"You owe me, Soraka. I look out for Warwick and you help me when I need it. And right now, I really do."

"This- _THIS-_ isn't the same! Don't you know whose kingdom you're in? Who your friends are? She's killed people, Quinn! She doesn't belong."

" _I've_ killed people! Is that how you feel about me?"

Silence fell over the room.

"No... I didn't mean to say that." Soraka looked as if she had been grievously wounded. It was obvious to the other two that she recognized her faux pas, but the words could not be taken back. "Even if I wanted to, I can't help you. She's too far gone for what I have to offer."

"That's not true!" Valor lost his perch on Quinn's shoulder. She cut off Soraka's path by inserting herself as a roadblock. "I know what you can do. You've done so much, why stop? For this shitty town? For people that don't care? They'll never like you, Raka. They're too set in their own ways. Whether you heal people with herbs or magic, they'll never see past your horn or your skin."

"You don't understand. I am here to right wrongs, just like you. My goal is to heal and protect; I am on my path. If these people can't accept my form of magic healing, then I will set aside my differences to help them."

"You've got some pretty twisted ideals, you know that? I'm asking a lot from you because you're the only healer I know. This stuff is worthless," here Quinn gestured to the table. "You have magic. Use it."

"That's not your choice to make."

"So be it."

Just like that the fight was gone from Quinn. Whatever adrenaline had kept her awake for the past 30 hours had finally been bled dry.

"There's extra beds and a fire in the other room. Drink this, both of you, before you go to sleep." Soraka gave them each a phial of red liquid as they passed her. She wanted so badly to reach out and touch Quinn, to somehow reverse whatever extra damage she was inflicting, but there was no time for that now. Someone else was counting on her.

Soraka locked the door, rolled up her sleeves, and began to channel magic.

* * *

That night Illaoi, Sejuani, and Quinn shared the same dream. Their addled minds had not found the opportunity to process through on their grueling hike; therefore, it took this valuable time to recount the event in detail.

...

At first Quinn thought Illaoi was sent from the Southern Isles to kill Sejuani. She did not know the ways of the Nagakabouros for she was a woman of cunning and diplomacy, denying any god the satisfaction of praying and asking for anything in return. The only one who had her back was _herself._ Well, Valor too.

Seeing the smoldering spirit of Sejuani ripped from her body had truly been a sight to behold. The spirit looked healthy and unhurt by whoever had mauled her and left her for dead.

Illaoi, in contrast to Quinn, was unmoved by the sight of Sejuani's spirit. The proud warrior stood with her shoulders straight, chin high, and chest out. Ghostly blue flames licked her body as she stood in the presence of the priestess.

"Face Nagakabouros, she demands your tithe!"

Tentacles appeared in the snow, first a few, then a dozen, all swarming around the lifeless form of Sejuani. Then, like a finely tuned clock they began to take turns striking her. One caught her chest and an audible crack was heard.

Another one connected and Sejuani's arm broke like a brittle twig. Bristle roared from where he was battling his own tentacle nightmare. Nagakabouros was keeping him from reaching his master by latching onto his hind legs and applying great pressure if he moved.

"We learn from action. Move- or die."

Oh gods, Quinn was going to be sick. She didn't have a tangible relationship with the undomesticated woman, but this was too much.

Just when Illaoi thought her god had broken both body and spirit, a low moan came from the dried throat of Sejuani. Like a flower stubbornly pushing its way through the dredges of winter into the air of spring, she pried open her eyes and weakly blocked the next blow.

"Now you are learning!" Illaoi let loose a laugh. Sejuani caught a tentacle and used its momentum to get on her knees. Just then one to the right of her hit her in the back and she landed face first in the snow.

"Nagakabouros doesn't want you to kneel. She wants you to fight."

"Fuck. Your. God." Sejuani rose on a wobbly arm. An instant later it was almost cut out from under her by a fast moving tentacle. The princess caught herself before she could hit the ground again and managed to dodge an attack to her exposed back.

"Good, this is the lesson." The blue figure before the priestess wavered slightly. "You must earn your soul."

"Fuck. You." This time Sejuani made it to her feet. Her right arm hung limply by her side and new blood was beginning to ooze from old wounds. In total she looked like death walking. But she was in motion.

"What is it that drives you, child? Your people seek a worthy death. Mine, a worthy life."

Sejuani's cold, hate-filled eyes locked with Illaoi's.

"I will rule the Freljord."

"First you must take your spirit."

Tentacles continued to barrage the warrior from either side, but it was as if she no longer felt them. A few times she was knocked off her feet, but it did not stop her. Conquest was on her mind.

At last, Sejuani stepped into her soul. There was a rush of memories and emotions all at once- the most recent being the destruction of Winter's Claw. It was like a claw ravaging the gaping hole in her chest, so painful and raw. The pain reshaped itself into a ball of anger. With it she could avenge the death of her people.

"I _will_ rule the Freljord." Sejuani promised.

Seconds later she collapsed and did not wake again.

"Ha, ha! Nagakabouros accepts your tithe."

* * *

 **a/n:** I had a blast writing the opening to this chapter. Quinn is 2sassy4me :'D


	6. Pay the Piper

Quinn's transition from sleep to consciousness was unpleasant. One moment she was vaguely aware of the pain in her body and the next she was slammed into a world where fire consumed her bones. Whatever Soraka had put in the red potion had taken the edge off her worst injuries, but her whole body felt like a giant infected wound. She was incredibly hot and uncomfortable in whatever clothes she was wearing- was that even her shirt? Probably not. Wait, where was she? This wasn't her quarters in Demacia. Those weren't the voices of Garen and the city guards, neither were her clothes regulation.

She tried to sit up and swing out of bed, but her arms and legs were dead weight. If she could just reach the glass jar on the bedside table, she could break it and use the shards as shivs. Maybe she could cut her captors' throats, grab Val, and get ou- wait. Val. Valor? Huh? Where was he?! Quinn redoubled her efforts to get out of bed, but all she managed to do was tumble onto the hard floor with a solid _whap._

Instantly the voices outside the room stopped and footsteps approached the door. Oh, this was it. It was now or never. Could Quinn reach the jar in time to break it and make her escape? She could try.

The door swung open on Quinn's pitiful effort to claw her way over to the table. She was gasping on the floor from her initial fall and still locked in a fetal position.

"Ha ha, you are in motion of the most unusual kind."

Quinn knew that voice. From where? She couldn't seem to get her body to obey simple commands like turning to see who had entered. The light spilling from the open doorway revealed that she was in a room with two beds, a table, and a steady fire. The windows mounted on either side of the chimney were tightly shut and Quinn wanted to do nothing more than open them at fling herself outside. She would not die in such a disgraceful way, especially not on the floor.

"Val! I need eyes on 'em!" What she thought was her full voice was no more than a whisper. A hand rested on her back and it gently turned her over to reveal a familiar face. An unhappy one, but still familiar. "Val! Val!"

"Shhh. Don't bite the hand that feeds you, Quinn." Soraka murmured. Suddenly everything made sense: the bed, the clothes, the fire- she was in Soraka's house. "Illaoi, mind her leg. She's feverish."

Whoever this Illaoi was did not have the same gentle touch as Soraka. Quinn cried out as she was tucked back into bed.

"Thank you. I'd prefer you wait elsewhere. Quinn will be fine." The meaning of Soraka's words were lost as Quinn plunged back into a world of invisible fire and pain.

* * *

Hours later Quinn woke. It was not as jarring or frightening as before; it was more like waking up underwater. She swam to the surface of consciousness and emerged slightly disoriented and very sick.

"Sit up. Slowly." A shadow sat on the end of the other bed in the room. Quinn did not need much light to tell whether it was Soraka or not, she was easily distinguishable from the horn on her forehead. The fire had died down since she had last been up and in the soft glow she could see that her friend was mending her Demacia issued uniform.

"There's a red potion by your hand. Unscrew it and drink it."

Quinn opened her mouth to object, but Soraka's eyes flashed dangerously in the gloom. "I said **drink.** "

And she did. Quinn could not help but to make faces while she choked the syrupy potion down. She felt close to retching, but did not feel up to weathering the wrath of an angry healer. The star child had not become the best by letting her patients dictate what method of care they would be getting, she spoke and her words were obeyed. Soraka watched her like a hawk and did not speak until the bottle was finished.

"Good. You'll start to feel better in a few minutes. Those potions last about two hours, give or take a few minutes." Soraka put down her work and fed another log to the fire. She stood watching the flames in quiet reflection. When she spoke again it startled Quinn, "You owe me a favor."

"Huh? Was that, fuck..." Quinn coughed violently. "...Your favor?" The potion lingered in the back of her throat. It tasted too sweet to be called delicious and too foreign to be likable.

"Don't be dense, that was to make you feel better. Here, I'd like you to put your uniform on." Soraka handed the Demacian regalia to Quinn in exchange for the empty phial. There was a definite shaking in the hunter's fingers, but it was tolerable in comparison to the fire in her bones. Together the two women negotiated the costume over stiff joints and tender wounds, frequently pausing as fabric chaffed sensitive skin. When Soraka had stripped the clothes off her incapacitated patient it had been a mess of blood urine, and grime. With a great deal of elbow grease and determination the suit had taken on its original tint.

"You hardly ask for favors. What do you need?"

"It's not what I need, it's what Demacia sent you to do. It's time to hang up your bow and become a diplomat. You're going to speak with Tryndamere."

Quinn went through another series of bone crushing coughs before she was able to answer. Gods, her lungs were on fire. Did Soraka have something for that?

"What? Since when did you care about Tryndamere?"

"Listen to me." Soraka roughly pulled the final touches over Quinn's head. "I'm not asking you, I'm _telling_ you what needs to be done. Please, it's not much." She added in a softer tone. Her eyes were ringed with melancholia and what looked like exhaustion, but it was hard to tell in the wavering light coming from the fireplace.

"Well, the least I can do is show people how badass I am."

"Thank you." A smile stole over Soraka's lips, but she quickly hid it. "Come."

Valor was waiting for Quinn in the front room of the house. Soraka must have installed a perch for him while they had been away for the past few months. It warmed Quinn to see the value their friendship in this simple gesture, but it served as a heart-wrenching reminder of how alone and highly disliked Soraka was by the locals of Frostheld. No one kept close company with birds so far north; therefore the only usage would come during her infrequent visits with Val.

"Oh, do you like it?" The tiredness slipped from Soraka's shoulders when she saw Quinn admiring her new addition. "Braum did it a few weeks ago. He also left a few poro snacks for Val, but I told him those were designed only for _poros_ and not _birds._ He left it anyways."

"Well, I'll have to thank him when I see him." Quinn lifted her arm and was joined by her companion a moment later.

Three more bottles of that mysterious red potion were pressed into Quinn's hand. "You're not to take more than two in at least three hours. Too much will make you sick, especially on an empty stomach."

"Understood."

They nodded to one another and went their separate ways.

* * *

Open air markets were wildly different from the pilfering and bartering Bilgewater called trade. Here in Frostheld it was a subdued and tame event in comparison. Though it may have been Illaoi's present company that dissuaded a brighter atmosphere.

"You're not going to tell me, huh?" Nunu and Willump were following closely on Illaoi's heels. The boy had caught sight of her rich skin color among the paler patrons and fastened onto her like a leech. Nothing seemed to excite Willump more than a snack or sweet of some sort, therefore Nunu had come down to the market to buy a treat they could both enjoy. Illaoi would have thought he was only there to bother her with the way he was whittling down her patience.

"Hmph, you and Quinn are so secretive," He prattled on loudly in the way that young children were known to do. Illaoi noticed the sharp head turns at the mention of Quinn and quickly decided to avoid all topics dealing with her or Sejuani. _Especially_ Sejuani.

"Have you tried barbecue before, child? It is better than any secret."

"Barbecue? I don't even know what that is. Is it something we can eat?" Nagakabouros was to be thanked for the boy's eagerness to please and short attention span. From time to time Illaoi caught him trying to imitate her swagger or carry an imaginary weight on his shoulder like her relic, the Eye of God. This time he was trying to imagine what food she could possibly be talking about.

She was about to answer when a new voice chimed in: "Of course, boy! I see you make friend with good taste."

A tall, robust man stepped towards the party with his arms full of sweets. He wore pants and a cloak, but no other forms of protection against the elements. It was a pity his food senses were keen but his environmental awareness lacking.

"Braum," He beamed at Illaoi and would have offered a hand if it were not full of desserts. Instead he bobbed his head which Illaoi preferred over a sticky greeting.

"I am Illaoi. I did not think cuisine from the Southern Isles could reach so far, Northman."

"A friend travels between here and southern isles. Gragas, you know him? Big? Round? Shaped like barrel?"

Illaoi cracked a smile and laughed. "Yes, he's a riot!"

"Good friend." Braum radiated enjoyment from every pore.

"He's my friend too." Nunu piped up. He felt forgotten during the adult's exchange and deemed it necessary to prove his relevance.

"A friend of Freljord _and_ little ram." Braum winked at Nunu. "I have task for you. Find me most yummy poro snack and I give you and yeti reward."

"Got it." Nunu scampered off to Illaoi's delight. She hastily covered her sigh of relief with a cough.

It was a fine day for the unforgiving climate. The sun was a welcome change to the overcast skies and it kicked Illaoi's spirit into a high mood. Her well-being had not been broken by the grueling march and after a full night's rest it was time to begin again. Nagakabouros had not turned the compass on a new quarry and Freljord was a good place to explore. A man played a polka for the children sitting at his feet, two women haggled over the price of fresh fish, and life went on.

Illaoi would have felt more in tune with the activities going on had it not been for the hushed whispers and odd looks. It was hard to tell if the dissonance stemmed from her appearance in their city or if the issue had started long before she and Quinn arrived. Beating the answer out of the locals was not the best course of action, so she refrained from doing just that. Instead she dusted off a skill she hadn't used in a long time: the art of prying.

"Braum, tell me, what makes a baddie here in Freljord? Bilgewater has her own demons, but what lurks here?"

"Hmph, baddie is strong word for weak people. Frostheld has none, but Winter's Claw has one." They were walking by stalls with no intent in buying, just admiring. Braum leaned in and lowered his voice before continuing. "Sejuani is what you call baddie. A cold heart beats in her chest." He straightened up once more and took the lead.

"You have met this woman, no?" A flock of children parted to let Illaoi through. They paused their game of tackle to admire her commanding presence and to wish on a star that they would someday be as powerful as she.

"Yes. I tried to reason with her, but she is stubborn like Agatha. Cow back home." Braum added after seeing confusion cross Illaoi's face. "Her actions hurt many. Rumor say that Ashe is dead. May be from warrior who forgot wisdom come from head, not hand."

Illaoi had little to say to that. Just a few blocks away the culprit of many a crime slept fitfully. The priestess knew Nagakabouros did not operate under the laws of good or evil, she moved and that was enough. However, Illaoi was still human and though her faith was indomitable, her heart occasionally fell back into the trenches of right and wrong, good and bad, criminal and victim.

Luckily Nunu and Willump entered the scene with armfuls of round snacks. From the crumbs on his face he may have sampled a few sweets, you know, just to make sure they weren't poisoned or anything like that. You could never be too careful.

"I couldn't choose, so I bought them all. And tried one. Okay, it was two. Nope, three. A few more than three, that's all I'm saying."

"You can never be too sure, little ram. Braum thanks you." The large man bent to retrieve the food and by the time he stood up Illaoi was nowhere to be seen. What a pity. No matter, he still had a hungry boy and a yeti. "Nunu, how would you like to try barbecue?"

* * *

Quinn felt like a prisoner of war sitting at the far end of the table. Tryndamere had called her to a meeting as soon as she entered the citadel. He was never Quinn's first pick to be Ashe's husband and he was definitely her last preference to be king of anything, but life was kinda shitty in that you didn't get what you wanted.

Right now she wanted to be anywhere but in a room surrounded by people who didn't like her. _This must be how Soraka feels everyday,_ Quinn thought glumly. Every word out of Tryndamere's mouth seemed to be directed at her, despite his audience of a dozen other residents.

"We take one step forward and two steps back when we open our gates to supposed allies are always conveniently too late to help. It goes to show that our affairs are our own and need to be settled by eliminating threats. There's no reason to keep up the illusion of peace when there's warmongers among us." Tryndamere locked eyes with Quinn. "Ashe was the one who trusted anyone who walked through Frostheld, but I am not going to be as naive as her. In this time of her her absence... while we search for her. I think it's time we look for a culprit instead of a body. I trust all of you and that's why you're here with me, but it's not as easy to trust the ones coming from beyond our walls."

"What is our next course of action, Tryndamere?" The man who spoke up was one of the king's friends. After the culling of Tryndamere's tribe, the crazed soon-to-be-king went berserk and tried to take on this man's clan by himself. Holm, the ambassador sitting at the table, had successfully diverted the hard feelings into a plan to get even with whoever had committed this crime. His ability to be unruffled had won him his life that day and a seat at the king's table for the following years.

"It's no secret that Sejuani and Lissandra are still vying for the throne, but I know that ice witch is too smart to assault a kingdom as powerful as ours. She's had centuries to attack yet remains as a bottom feeder. That barbarian grows more desperate and unpredictable the longer we let her play 'princess' with her savages. The bad blood between she and Ashe is spreading- Sejuani had the peace offerings to be burned." Tryndamere was speaking about a caravan of wheat, animal products, and precious medicine Ashe had sent as a means for negotiating an audience with Sejuani. A conference never came of it. Winter's Claw stole the horses, set fire to the supplies, and sent Ashe's messengers back with the message, 'We fight while cowards talk'.

That stunt had happened less than a year ago, but where Ashe had let it go Tryndamere had rallied around it and painted the stubborn princess out to be a tyrant governed by rage. Quinn knew this was not true. She didn't see eye to eye with Sejuani, but she knew that she trusted only her strength and wanted her tribe to hold the same values. By allowing Tryndamere to demonize her only made Quinn's job harder. It was time she did the job she was sent to do.

"Are you saying Ashe is missing?"

"That's right, you weren't here. Demacia is good at sending help too late." Tryndamere snapped. The other heads at the table looked away and found a sudden interest in the hanging tapestries. The figureheads present were afraid of the king to some degree.

 _Fucking mouth breathers, all of them._ Quinn hated people who could not think for themselves.

"It's hard to get news from a closed city. Please, enlighten me."

"That feral woman and her mongrel had part in sinking Ashe's ship. She was only a few miles out from shore." The king eyed the outsider with contempt. "I don't suppose you were aware Ashe was on her way to Demacia."

"I hope you find what you're looking for. However, if you're trying to accuse me of undermining a pact you could _barely_ uphold, then you'll have to do better than that. Demacia is working with all of Freljord, not just Frostheld. I'm not bound to you, Ashe, Sejuani, or Lissandra. When you and everyone get your shit together we'll be gone, just like you've always wanted." Quinn wondered if she had gone too far. It was one thing to provoke Tryndamere with Ashe present, but who knew what this unstable man would do without his even-tempered partner. Quinn's head was beginning to hurt. Soraka's potion must be wearing off.

"You're on thin ice, I'd watch your step."

"If I watch any closer I'd become like you-"

Tryndamere had had enough. His chair hit the ground. Some of his guests gasped, others grunted in surprise. Tryndamere's fingers were wrapped around Quinn's throat.

"Get a hold of yourself, Tryndamere! _Tryndamere_!" Holm was pulling the king's hands away from the ambassador's neck. He understood the ramifications of harming their chances of receiving outside help.

Quinn was scrabbling against the chair, desperately trying to gain leverage on Tryndamere's hands. The edges of the room were beginning to grow fuzzy. Her movements were sluggish in comparison to her usual awareness. It was awful! She felt like prey! She should never have agreed to help Soraka. She should never have come. She should never have left Demacia. She should never have gotten on Illaoi's ship-

Tryndamere let go.

All the blood rushed back into her head and threatened to sweep her under a black wave. Quinn fought it and took a dry heave over the side of her chair. No one took notice in the din of the shouting match. Those who supported the king's desire to solve their problems with internal resources went up against those who preferred to have Demacia and other forces help settle the power skirmish.

It was too much for Quinn. She fumbled for the potions and drank them with little regard to Soraka's warning.

Tryndamere had strode away from the table with Holm in his ear. Tryndamere did not appear to be listening. He was a bad-tempered man. Holm broke away and went to Quinn's aide.

"He's not in his right mind, Quinn. Let us reconvene in a few days."

"No need. I'll be sure to let Demacia know Frostheld no longer needs our assistance."

Holm looked crest fallen. He had been on the side pining for Demacia's help. His tribe would be dismayed at this news. "I'm disappointed, though I wish you'd reconsider."

"I'll see myself out."

Quinn stumbled more than stormed out of the room. She thought the red potion would have helped her vision grow clearer, but if anything it was making it worse. When she reached the foyer her vision was so bad the guard was little more than a gray blob.

"Val, to me." Quinn slurred. Oh gods, why did she sound like that? What was happening? Perhaps taking all three potions wasn't a good idea… Shit. Soraka better not find out, she'd kill her.

That was the last coherent thought she had for a long time.

* * *

Illaoi did not know where she was. She spent the last few hours following no particular route, turning down whatever street looked interesting and tried to get a feel for life in Freljord. It appeared that Avarosa was a guiding spirit for this city's residents. If Illaoi stayed long enough, Nagakabouros would illuminate each person's path and they would be in motion.

As of late Nagakabouros had been quiet. This was not unusual in any way. The mother did not thrive on frequent petitions or dependent behavior; she was a strong god who called for strong disciples. The least Illaoi could do was focus her mind so she would be ready to answer the call to action.

The familiar weight of the Eye of God kept her connected with Nagakabouros, even when she was terribly lost... which she was. The uniform buildings did not help distinguish a dead end from a connecting street. Freljord was pretty and so was Frostheld, but the recurring theme of stone, snow, and ice was growing old.

Illaoi backtracked down a road she was sure she had gone down. Damn, this didn't look like something she had seen. More closed doors... oh, but that looked kinda familiar. A pillar with the symbol of Avarosa stuck out past a building. It was connected to a statue of the former queen and that statue was near the castle. Ha! Not lost after all!

She emerged within sight of the castle steps. Damn, how did she miss that giant piece of stone? And when did the queen relax her standards enough to let vagrants and their pets sleep outside?

Hang on. What was that blue thing hopping around?

Oh no. _Please don't be that big ass chicken,_ Illaoi prayed. Anything was better than that bird.

Her god must have missed her prayer.

Valor hopped out of Illaoi's way just as she set her relic down. He pecked at her hand and the priestess assumed it was his weird way of thanking her.

"Bird, we can't keep meeting like this."

She scooped the unconscious Quinn up and started walking to the apothecary's shop. There was no doubt about it: Soraka was going to kill them.

* * *

 **a/n:** I know this chapter was all filler. It'll pick up again in chapter 7! I think I just needed a break from the story, my mind was getting fried.

Would you guys prefer to have longer chapters (5-8k) or shorter ones (2-4k)?


	7. Lights Will Guide Me Home

"You're annoying, you know that?" Soraka stepped around Illaoi for the third time. The priestess and her giant rock seemed to be in the way: in front of the table, too close to the beds, or directly in her path. _Again._ "I'm trying to work here."

"Curiosity never hurt anybody." Illaoi watched Soraka move about with keen skepticism. She was no medic herself, but she knew there was a supernatural element to the care going on under this roof. Sejuani was proof that her host was more complex than she appeared.

After dropping Quinn off in the back room, Illaoi had taken a closer look at Frostheld's boogieman. Lying amidst the white sheets without her furs, Sejuani could have been pegged for a common woman had she not built up a reputation to match her scars. Her angular face was without its usual frown and her white hair took a break from being trapped under the prison of her helmet. Though her eyes were shut, Illaoi could remember the color without having to think very hard. They were the same enticing blue as the sea; if she looked too deeply she could easily get lost in them.

In the three days Sejuani had been in their host's care, not only had the necrotic effects of frostbite been removed, but the deep puncture wounds were the size of pinholes. What was more amazing was the state of Sejuani's chest. The edges of the ragged cut were coming weaving a web of new skin at the speed of a skilled seamstress. It was nothing short of a miracle. No dried leaves or powder could do that.

Quinn was not experiencing the same care as the warlord. She groaned from her makeshift bed near the fire. Apparently this back room was not meant to accommodate more than one patient, or fugitive in this case, at a time. To work around this issue, Soraka had thrown together a bed of furs in the only available spot. Unfortunately that meant Valor could not roost near his partner and had to wait elsewhere.

Illaoi was not so easily dissuaded by physical discomforts such as cramped rooms or confined areas. She stood steadfast through a barrage of threats aimed at a general audience and detailed instructions of how the person responsible for Quinn's current state could go fuck themselves. It was a good thing Illaoi had weathered storms worse than this.

"Auugh!" Soraka finally stopped her task and let out her frustrations. She hadn't stopped moving the second Illaoi walked past the threshold with the insensible Quinn. Just watching her made the priestess feel that she needed to be doing something too, but bedside nursing was not her specialty. She had to let go and let the professional take charge.

Up until she had stopped, the healer had been stirring a concoction of ingredients into a medium sized bowl. The table was littered with unfinished elixirs and loose papers. Occasionally Soraka would refer to one of the sheets, but she usually shook her head and grumbled something about doing what she wanted. It was all very strange and the product did not seem to be working for Quinn. The bruises on her neck were still as purple as ever and color had yet to return to her cheeks.

"This is stupid!" Soraka screeched. A beat later a glass jar crashed onto the floor and spilled its unappealing contents everywhere. "I can't! _AuuggHHH!"_ Another scream was drawn from her troubled mind. It was unsettling to hear, but what was worse was the quietness.

Thank god it did not last long.

Another pot smashed next to the one on the floor. Then another. And another.

"Illaoi? S-stop it! What're you— stop! No!" Soraka tried to pry the containers from Illaoi's hands, but it was no use. She was forced to watch as the priestess destroyed her work one jar at a time.

"You said it yourself: this is stupid. _You_ are stupid. You can do better than this. Learn from this mistake."

All Soraka could do was gape. She had spent months procuring those ingredients and done numerous demeaning favors in order to acquire rare elements of her craft. And now it was on the floor. Useless!

"How _dare_ you."

"You can't live like this."

"No," Soraka whispered, "No, do no— _DO NOT!—_ tell me what to do!" She swept the remaining items off the table in one vicious stroke. The Eye of God would have fallen as well, had it not been for its significant weight. "You have your god and I had my medicine, but now I have nothing. _Nothing_!"

"We aren't without either. You have forgotten."

"Forgotten? Forgotten?!" Soraka looked on the verge of a nervous breakdown. She was no better than the hated Lissandra. "I did not forget. How could I forget this cursed magic? I suppressed it for as long as I could. It was what made me different. Ugly. I'd trade my life for it to be gone."

"Don't gamble. You'll lose not just your talent, but your life."

Instantly the woman's body tensed up.

"What is it that you think I do, Illaoi? Do you think I play games?" Soraka fixed her bloodshot glare on Illaoi. "Do you believe I can call down the gods to do what I say? Or do you think I am a witch capable of resurrecting the dead? Perhaps you assumed I was all seeing? Did you guess that I played god?! Was that it?!" Each iteration increased in pitch until she was howling again.

"If you could resurrect anyone, this nation would be bringing you their dead queen."

"What're you saying?"

"Ashe is dead."

"No! Don't lie to me! Just-" Soraka raked shaky hands through her hair. "Just shut up for a second."

Minutes ticked by slowly. When the healer spoke again she was more composed.

"Did you say Ashe was dead?"

"Yes."

"Where did you hear that?"

"Today."

"I said where."

"Doesn't matter."

" _I said where, Illaoi._ " Hysteria was beginning to creep back into her voice.

"Outside. I met Braum and he told me it was a rumor."

"So Braum knows."

"All of Freljord knows, apparently. What will the king do?"

"I don't care. It doesn't matter anymore."

"It does for those who live here."

"Like I said, it doesn't matter."

Soraka waded through the chaos and was about to exit when Illaoi caught her arm.

"What are you going to do?"

"I'm going to take a nap." Illaoi's arm was shaken off. Soraka was tired, oh so tired. Healing Sejuani had taken so much energy from her, she had nothing to help Quinn with. Those nasty bruises would have to wait. For now she had to take care of herself.

...

Illaoi slept near Sejuani that evening. Soraka had taken the room she and Quinn had slept in the first few days and had not come out again. It was her house after all, so Illaoi had taken to the back room with the other guests. Quinn had fallen into a fitful rest in which she spoke to a person whom no one could see.

The hours passed. Illaoi found that she could not be soothed; she wanted Nagakabouros to talk to her, to tell her to come home. It was a childish response to the restlessness she was feeling in Freljord, nevertheless if the Mother so much as hinted at a return voyage Illaoi would have walked on water to reach Bilgewater. Her desire to leave was strong.

Outside the night crept forward. A new moon would be rising soon and the world would have a chance to reflect on its actions in the dark. That time would be spent wisely by fiends and spirits who conducted their dealings under the cover of the night.

Illaoi's eyes snapped open at the sound of a closing door. It was so quiet she almost didn't hear it. She sat up and rubbed the sleep out of her eyes. It was hard to tell what time it was; Soraka had her windows boarded shut to keep inquisitive minds eternally guessing.

The warning cry Illaoi expected from Valor never came. At some point in the night the logs had burned out and no one had replenished them. The only light came from the eerie green glow of Illaoi's relic and even that didn't cast enough light to dispel the darkest of shadows.

Illaoi thought she head the rustle of cloth as she tried to get her bearings and stand, but it could just have been her own fabric rubbing against one another. She rolled her neck then massaged the bridge of her nose. It was a bad habit of hers to frown during sleep, but it was not one she knew how to consciously change. There was a lot to think about over the past few days. Queen Ashe was dead, Quinn had been attacked in what was assumed to be the fortress of 'peace', and Soraka was sitting on a secret. Her reaction to the news of the queen's death was chilling and it caused Illaoi to question the nature of the relationship between the sovereign and her subject. Perhaps their friendship was as unstable as the power struggle between the three sisters.

The sound of glass breaking under heel was enough to alert Illaoi she was not alone. Without much thought she grabbed the handle of her relic and squinted into the dark room. Whoever was in here had enough sense to keep still, but that wouldn't be enough. Illaoi took a step toward where she thought the noise came. A blueish light sprang from midair and began to take the form of… a bow? Pale light from the weapon was enough to illuminate a curtain of white hair and a set of blue eyes.

Illaoi didn't care to find out who was behind those features. She swung and was about to make contact when her relic dropped like a sack of bricks and the glowing weapon returned to oblivion.

Soraka was standing in the doorway with her hair in a wild halo around her body. In her hands was a slender staff tipped with a crescent moon and runic markings similar to the tattoos on her body. It was the first Illaoi had seen of it and she wondered how this had escaped her cursory investigation of the house. The origin of the rod was not what made it spectacular, rather what it could do. Soraka was pointing the crescent end in their direction and from it a circle of stars was patterned on the floor. It swirled clockwise under the feet of Illaoi and the intruder, stripping them of their ability to harm one another and staying their progress.

Soraka was unfazed by this display. After all she had cast it many times before the Curtain of Silence was dropped. Long before magic was frowned upon. She was an old being. A starchild to be exact. She had seen the rise of many nations and watched them crumble while she obeyed the will of the cosmos. Then she had fallen for a man with the heart of a wolf… and she had seen what he could destroy with his clawed hands. When his true form engulfed him, she had renounced her position among the stars in order to fix what the wolf man ruined. On the off chance he changed his ways, Soraka prayed to be the light that guided him home. A home where the power of magic could heal his broken heart.

The circle of stars rooted Illaoi in place. Nagakabouros' relic had gone black and no lights shone between the stone teeth. The only source of light came from the rod and powerful magic curling along the floor.

"Let us go, Raka." The voice that spoke was feminine. Authoritative.

"Don't, she has a weapon." Illaoi tried to surge against the magic holding her in place. It grew tighter the more she struggled.

Soraka took no notice of the islander and continued as if she had not spoken.

"You are in my home. I do not recognize your authority."

"You are in _my_ kingdom."

"I'm afraid it is Tryndamere's now. You're supposed to be dead and I do not take orders from the grave. Not even from you."

The unidentified figure fought the magic as best she could, but whatever magic Soraka had woven was effective.

"Look," A few more grunts and curses followed. "I'm not here to cause trouble. I had to leave early. Release me, dammit!"

"Don't take it to heart when I say I don't trust you. Your husband almost killed Quinn for a second time and now you're out for blood again? I'd like to believe you when you eventually promise you won't use 'it' on anyone, but I've seen you do terrible things, Ashe. Your words are just words. Where is the woman I knew?"

No one spoke. Illaoi used the brief pause to catch herself up to speed: Ashe was the queen of Frostheld— married presumably, she was also supposed to be dead, and she did terrible things. This was not turning out to be a flattering resume.

"I'm the same woman, I swear to Avarosa. I had to get out. Tryndamere was on his crusade again. I know he tried to choke Quinn and by the looks of it she was lucky to leave with her life. Others won't be so fortunate. He's looking for outsiders. Kind of like _them._ "

Illaoi didn't need directions to figure out that comment was aimed at her and Sejuani. It was true, they were not welcome for various reasons: Sejuani was the 'monster' out to kill the queen, steal the throne, and let nature reclaim the land; Illaoi was a woman who didn't belong to the cold reaches of the north. Unfortunately that blanket term of 'them' extended further than originally thought.

"Outsiders like me." Soraka added coolly. The rod did not move an inch. It was as cold and unfeeling as its owner. "I didn't expect you for another day."

"Did you want me to stay and get caught?"

The other worldly light cut out along with the freezing effect.

"I'll be your real friend and tell you that you fucked up." Soraka said.

Ashe nodded like she understood, but the hard jut to her chin said otherwise. Instead she turned her attention to Sejuani who was oblivious to the whole scene. Side by side it was easy to see the resemblance of Avarosa and Serylda in their descendants: white hair, sharp facial features, and an untapped attractiveness wedged between a rock and a hard place.

"I don't want you two in my way. You'll have what answer you came for when I am through, Ashe. For now, get out. Both of you."

* * *

Illaoi sat crosslegged in front of the fire. That overgrown pigeon, Valor, nestled happily in the crook of Ashe's elbow. It was no surprise that traitorous fowl had not uttered a peep when the queen entered! Those two were as thick as thieves.

 _Good for them._ Illaoi pulled the Eye of God closer to her body. Maybe Nagakabouros would call her right now and she could forget about underhanded monarchs, secretive healers, and cheeky birds. Then she could go back to her home in Bilgewater and… and… do anything besides staying here. She wondered how her ship had fared through the harsh weather.

Apparently Ashe had other things on her mind than Illaoi's boat. Her ice breaker came in the form of a direct question. "Who are you? Why are you here?"

"I am who I have always been: Illaoi. My god has designs for me which are outside of your conflict."

"A truly neutral answer. Clever. I guess when you're queen you don't get that luxury. Since no one knows how to keep their mouth shut around here, I assume you know about Lissandra and Sejuani and I." She didn't pause to check. "Generally if any help comes from the outside it's not welcome. But, I really needed Quinn to convince Demacia to stand with us— _me_ — and unite the Freljord."

Illaoi bit her tongue. To ask questions would involve her in a war that she did not care to see completed. Besides, Ashe had started talking again.

"You're not from Freljord and you must think this fight is archaic, but it's our life. Lissandra betrayed her sisters and the result has been the fracturing of three tribes. I know with help from Demacia I can do what the generations before me could not. All I need is for Quinn to say a few words in the right company and this struggle will end.

"To start these events I had to make it look like I had died. Avarosa, my ancestor, gifted a bow to her lineage and I used an arrow of enchanted crystal to shoot the hull of Quinn's ship. I planned a false trip to a conference that would put me close to Quinn's ship, then in the night I sank it. I knew the arrow would melt or eventually sink since it's made of ice. All that matters is that Quinn made it out okay. However, being an outsider here in Freljord is not a good place to be as you can see. Tryndamere is convinced any non-native is evil and he plans on eradicating them now that I'm presumed dead.

"I have to take Sejuani out of here and get her to Demacia… that's if Quinn will help me. If the government will take her under asylum, I can fight Lissandra head on with their army. At least that's what _should_ happen. I can't have Sejuani here. She'll ruin my plans before they even see the light of day."

During the story Illaoi had dug her fingers into the hollow eye sockets of her relic to relieve the edgy feeling in her bones. This story sounded more like a confession to a crime than a plan to unite a country. It was also growing harder to withhold her comments. With all these events that had taken place or were yet to happen, how could she not question it? How did Ashe know where Quinn would be? Why did the rest of the crew not survive? Was Sejuani struck down by her sister too?

"Is this not what you expected? I don't imagine you'd believe me if I say I'm after peace."

"Is this your guilty conscience speaking or the former queen?"

Ashe didn't answer for a while. Her chatty mood had ebbed with the waning fire. Another log was added and the conversation restrung.

"I didn't hurt Sejuani. Lissandra is an opportunist and she must have jumped as soon as I carried out my plan. She's had a long time to play cat and mouse with us. I know Tryndamere's next move will be to go to Winter's Claw. I'm sure they'll be ready for him."

In her mind's eye Illaoi could see the state the settlement had been left in. Snow had started to cover the existence of such a tribe; the land was eager to swallow its sins whole. There would be no one to greet Tryndamere.

"I am leaving Frostheld as soon as he departs. An envoy will be dispatched to tell Demacia I'm dead, but I'll be on that ship to convince them otherwise and to come back and restore peace. Quinn will be there to reinforce my cause. If you're smart you'll be on that ship with us, Illaoi."

"My ship is not riddled with arrows the last time I checked."

"If you think Tryndamere will let a ship from the outside leave without crucifying the owner, then you're deluded. However, there is much tie for you to debate your next course of action. The ship will leave once Quinn is awake and requests transport back."

The flow of the conversation stopped. What Ashe said was right. If this king was as crazed as he sounded, any ship not bearing Avarosa's mark may be met with the same fate as Quinn's. It was unsettling to think that Ashe almost killed her friend under the pretense of wanting peace.

Illaoi excused herself without giving an answer.

* * *

Rather than spend time with Ashe's questionable company, Illaoi divided her time between walking the streets of the city and the bedside of Sejuani. The room had more space now that Quinn was mobile and beyond the effect of the potion. In the two days that had past since that late-night chat, Ashe had left Illaoi alone to consider the option of leaving Freljord. Her new project was convincing Quinn not to turn her back on the north despite her husband's actions.

Meanwhile, Frostheld had taken on a darker tone. News of Ashe's death were being circulated around the city from more credible sources and Tryndamere was stepping aggressively into the role of justiciar. He called for a close group of men and women to accompany him on his journey to Winter's Claw to ferret out Sejuani.

This news had come from Nunu who insisted he be a part of anything involving the fugitives, particularly Illaoi. When he knocked on Soraka's door for the fourth time that day, the priestess had bodily lifted him and set out for a walk. The boy could hardly keep from babbling as they went through the side gate of the city.

"So what's gonna happen next? Are you staying?" He slipped out of her grasp and ran ahead. Bristle was a shaggy heap of fur half-buried in the snow. Nunu and Willump had taken to feeding him while Sejuani recovered and it appeared that Bristle appreciated the company. "I've got a room in the castle and everything— you could fit too. I share it with Willump, though, do you mind? He doesn't snore." The yeti lobbed a snowball at his friend. It purposefully fell short.

"Are you offering me, a stranger, a room?" Illaoi laughed for the first time in days. It was a nice sound in the empty expanse of the Freljord. "How generous. Another time, perhaps. Oh, fix your face." She threw a snowball and did not miss.

"Hey!"

"Your king is not fond of outsiders. Do you not share his sentiment?"

Nunu stopped packing snow into a lumpy ball and gave Illaoi a peculiar look. "I'm not exactly from here either." He didn't say more to elaborate on what he meant.

"Ah, okay. Well, I received another offer. Ashe is going to Demacia as soon as Tryndamere leaves and I'll be going home." As she said this, Illaoi realized that was her mind had been made up from the second the archer made the offer. If Nagakabouros was not showing her a clearer sign than this, then she needed a new profession. Sejuani would recover under the care of Soraka, Quinn would tell Demacia yea or nay on aiding the tribe of Avarosa, and Ashe would be the ghost writer of the new age of peace.

"Well, that sucks. Can I come? Tryndamere probably won't want us around, anyways. He leaves in a few hours."

"Ah, it pays to be in the loop. You'd be better off here, child. Ashe needs you to be her eyes and ears, I need to do the same for my god."

"Well, the least you could do is buy me a snack."

"My pleasure."

Illaoi made good on her promise and bought him a snack on the way back to the house. Many residents eyed her with fear and disdain, but it did not bother her as much as she thought it would. Once indoors she slipped out of her outer gear and found Ashe packing a light bag.

"You've returned. What did Nunu want?"

"He told me Tryndamere leaves in a few hours. By then it will be dark and we can go."

Ashe extended her arm and Illaoi grasped it just below the elbow in the formal act of sealing a deal. "I'm glad you've decided to come."

...

Sejuani had not woken up like Ashe had predicted. Soraka shared angry words and knowledge freely, saying that to move Sejuani would be to kill her. This was not what Ashe wanted to hear, but she didn't have time to argue.

"You're sure, Raka? Nothing can be done?"

"You're welcome to get a second opinion." Soraka said acidly. She was angry at Ashe for leaving the comatose warrior in her care. It was bad enough that the king hated outsiders and may eventually come for her head, but it would infinitely worse if Sejuani was found _with_ her. "You better get going."

Tryndamere issued a statement prior to his crusade saying he was going to get even with Sejuani's barbaric tribe. This sparked patriotism in his citizens and it was the perfect opportunity for the party to make their getaway unnoticed.

Illaoi followed closely behind Quinn like she had on their first night in the city. Nunu had left Willump to tag along as they weaved through the people making their way to the imposing statue of Avarosa. He had proved invaluable in gathering information, so Quinn did not comment much on his presence.

At the gate Ashe hugged the boy.

"Come back soon, okay?" Nunu addressed all three with a brave face. His cheeks were ruddy from the cold… and perhaps a few tears. He hoped no one noticed.

Ashe squeezed him a last time then turned her face to the wind. They needed to make it to the port and board the ship. Quinn did not seem enthusiastic about any of the plan, even after Ashe's persistent entreaties. There did not seem to be any headway in convincing her to support the war, but at least the queen had a foothold in her mind.

The journey was easy going. A roughly paved road extended from the city and their tracks did not need to be covered in the churned snow. Illaoi felt the weight of the Eye of God lessen with each step she took. She never thought the grubby exterior of Bilgewater could seem so appealing.

They passed under arches and old structures, perhaps abandoned during the worst of the conflict, and approached the inlet. Few torches were lit in an effort to keep their exit hidden from anyone wishing to further tamper with their sponsor's ambassador. If Quinn was truly set on halting help from her country, they would be in a bad way, but should she return safely they may have a way to bargain. It was worth a shot.

The boat they were headed to had a few figures moving above deck, checking and rechecking riggings, planks, and anything else that may have been party to the mysterious sinking of the queen's vessel. The cover of darkness would be able to help Ashe scramble aboard undetected then stow away until they reached land.

"Hey, turn that off."

"S'cuse me?" Illaoi was surprised at the snappy order.

Quinn looked at her like she was dense. That's when Illaoi realized she could make out the features of the woman's face. The Eye of God was glowing brightly— the first it had in days.

"Turn it off. Right now."

"That's not how it works."

"It better."

Illaoi was about to answer with a smart reply when she felt a slight tug in her chest. It was not unfamiliar and it was a tug she knew well. Nagakabouros was calling.

"Oh Christ," Quinn exhaled. Illaoi was rooted in place and staring into the stone. "This isn't happening. Get on the boat." She tried to push Illaoi from behind, but it was a wasted effort. The people on the boat had noticed the two women and acknowledged them with a wave. Ashe had disappeared at some point and Quinn hoped she was working on a way to get aboard.

"You know, I was really going to eat your bird. I thought you should know."

"What're you saying? We have to go."

"I'm saying goodbye."

Quinn stopped elbowing and angling to look up at the priestess. Her eyes were clear and that self-assured grin was right where it belonged. Whoever this 'Nagakabouros' or 'Mother' was, she knew how to choose her followers well.

"I see. I'm sorry you're going to be part of this." Quinn extended her arm in the same way Ashe had. Illaoi gripped it tightly. "Until we meet again."

"Until then."

...

The greenish glow was visible long after the ropes were severed. Quinn and Valor stood at the rear of the ship and watched the light slowly make its way back to the city. Perhaps whatever god called Illaoi could also protect her from the prejudice of narrow minds, though that wouldn't be enough to slow a woman of her fortitude down.

Quinn stepped down to the main deck and watched the men and women move about with purpose. It was nice not to think for a few minutes. She lifted Valor onto an unused wooden stake, perhaps one for a coiled rope, and stared into the black water imagining what it would be like to fly away from all her troubles. To start again somewhere new. Just she and Val. Maybe go to a warm place for a change and try some barbecue. Didn't Illaoi know a lot about barbecue? Maybe Quinn would learn to cook something more than soggy rice. Illaoi could probably teach her a thing or two about cooking, right? The next time they met it wouldn't hurt to ask.

Quinn's mind fed her hazy images of this fantasy vacation. Roasting meat over an open flame, lounging on a beach, and— hang on, something Illaoi said earlier was in that vision too. What was that about meeting again? No, that wasn't it. A little before that… it had something to do with eating someone.

Valor locked eyes with his friend and suddenly the missing information clicked into place.

"What the hell? She was going to eat my fucking bird!"

* * *

 **a/n:** So I goofed big time on Soraka and Warwick's lore and altered it a bit to go with the story, I hope you guys don't mind. The reason this chapter is late is because I'm packing up my room and shipping out to TN (Tennessee) later this week. Yikes! I'm not ready for college to start up again.


	8. Set in Stone

Frostheld was not the same city Ashe and Quinn left behind. Without a queen, the stronghold had become a tomb for the living. Those who ventured into the streets were cloaked in ill-humor and dark attire, both befitting of a nation mourning a dead monarch.

Illaoi had re-entered the city on the night of Ashe and Quinn's departure, only to find hurting souls making the pilgrimage from their homes to the statue of Avarosa. Men, women, and children cast their hope and despair at her feet— she was supposed to be the one who watched over her brood from the far shores of Valhalla. Not all who approached the stone feet did so with kind thoughts for Avarosa. Many brought only questions to the silent protector, for their hearts couldn't find room to harbor optimism and distress. How did Avarosa let her direct descendent die? Was the former queen concerned with their well-being any longer? These questions remained unanswered by the sightless statue.

The streets of Frostheld remained thick with people, even after the passing of two days with no sign of Tryndamere. Today the sun did not seem to bother rising above the lowest ridges and the melancholy light played into the general mood. Snow had been blown over every available surface and provided a cold blanket for those who decided to rest at the foot of Avarosa. Many people had been deterred by the sudden windstorm the night before and they had turned back to the comfort of their beds rather than the silence of their guardian; those who stayed were either too angry or inconsolable to move.

Illaoi had been one of the people too angry to move. She did not stand under the shadow of the queen, no, she would not give the lifeless stone any indication that she believed in its power to shield her from anything. If this woman had been as large in life as she was in the hearts of her people, then she would have returned to them in a new form, but that was not the case. Avarosa was nothing more than an unexceptional woman and her legacy a tale for the unenlightened. Illaoi did not plan on leaving the city unenlightened for long.

She stepped over to a snow-covered lump and was about to roughly shake them when a hand fell on her arm. It was Braum.

"Northman, have you have come to pay homage to the rock too?" The contempt in her voice was lost as he easily lifted the Eye of God from the ground and placed it beside the foot of the statue.

"I have my rock, you have yours." He looked pensive rather than sad. Ice clung to his wooly beard and eye lashes, though he did not seem to mind. He had probably spent the night out here as well.

"That's fair." Illaoi scooped her relic up and glowered at him. "Do you believe your queen is in there?" She gestured to the woman.

"Do you believe god is in there?" He pointed to the glowing Eye of God. "I know otherwise. You cannot capture god in totem, I cannot capture queen in stone."

"Tell me what you know about my god and I'll show you where you're wrong."

Braum did not attempt to answer the challenge in Illaoi's words. He was not after a fight, he was too busy reading into signs he had seen in his youth. There was a phoenix born of ice, Anivia, who was said to be keeping watch over the creatures in this frozen landscape, a true champion of the Freljord, yet few had seen her in the last quarter century. During his time wandering from tribe to tribe, Braum had witnessed the great silhouette circling and had known he was safe under her shadow. Then, without a discernible shift, the name and visage of Anivia vanished from the heart and minds of those she protected. It appeared the bastion of peace had gone away for another era. She would be woken only when the new one was to be ushered in.

And now was the right time.

Braum shook the nearest mound of snow until it stirred to reveal a doe-eyed young man. Illaoi watched Braum dust him off and send him into the city with a precious message to spread:

Anivia was waking.

* * *

At midday Illaoi returned to the sanctuary of the apothecary's house. A bitter wind had picked up and forced Illaoi to evaluate her options: should she consider Nunu's roommate offer and run the risk of encountering Tryndamere upon his return, or return to the dour atmosphere of Soraka's home? The answer was simple and she found her way to the shop with little difficulty.

"Soraka!" Illaoi banged on the heavy oak door, but no one answered. It was not possible that the healer had disappeared in the day she had left and come back. Plus, the black clouds rolling in from the south looked particularly troubling. No one needed to be from the north to recognize a nasty storm when they saw one.

Illaoi pounded her fist one more time. _What was taking her so long? She couldn't be holding a grudge over a few smashed pots, right? No one could be that petty. Well, maybe a few people._ Illaoi waited a few seconds more before taking matters into her own hands. The force of the Eye of God crashing into the weak point of the door granted her access.

"I'll fix that." Illaoi called out, but there was no reply. Nothing seemed out of place indicating there were no visitors or that Soraka had too much time on her hands. The house felt warmer than the elements outside, but no fires burned. Perhaps they had burned out in the night and Soraka was still sleeping. The relic illuminated the gloomy interior as Illaoi strode to the rear of the house. She half expected the creatures of her childhood nightmares to try and touch her, but she was grown and did not dream of make-believe monsters.

Nagakabouros' spirit-pulling compass guided Illaoi to the last room in the house. The door was slightly ajar and orange light spilled out of the crack. With a booted toe, the priestess prodded the door open to reveal a most unusual scene.

Sejuani was awake, that was for certain. Very awake and _very_ angry. She straddled Soraka's body which lay on the ground surrounded by broken ceramic. In one hand the princess gripped a shard and in the other a lock of white hair. Claw marks decorated her pale arms, definite signs of struggle, but the fight seemed to have left Soraka's body. The healer lay still with her eyes closed as if in sleep.

Illaoi tackled Sejuani and pinned her between herself and the wall. The woman thrashed and bit and howled in frustration, but Illaoi did not let go. Amid this furious display, a few words were choked out.

"She…killed…all…of them! Let…go!"

"Like hell I will."

"No, let her go." Soraka's hoarse voice was heard over the commotion. One of her hands came up to rest on Illaoi's back. "Do it."

"What're you saying? She's out of her mind."

"Just do it. I can't keep drugging her."

Illaoi moved out from under the healer's touch, but did not let go of Sejuani. "You've been drugging us?"

"Yes, but you only took one dose. If you think I could let _her_ outside, then you must be the one out of your mind. She'd cause trouble worse than you can imagine."

Sejuani found a handle on her rage and spoke in a gravelly tone. "She's a liar and killer."

"Don't pretend you're above me, savage. I know what you've done and I'm not anything like you."

"There's no difference in war! I'll kill you!"

Illaoi knocked the ceramic weapon away before Sejuani could throw it. It wasn't done under altruistic pretenses— she'd enjoy crushing Soraka's bones when she found the chance— but this was not the time.

"Braum is talking about an Anivia. Who or what is that?" Illaoi grabbed Sejuani as she bucked and writhed in her arms. The name had sparked some kind of violent reaction in the warrior and she had redoubled her efforts to break free. In her limited catalogue of Freljord, Illaoi assumed whatever this was was not a sympathizer of Winter's Claw's crusade. It did not appear the tribe had many allies.

Soraka's reaction was less volatile. She looked sharply into Illaoi's eyes to see if there was truth in it. She repeated the name. "Anivia. She's awake?" Then to herself, she murmured the answer: "She's awake."

"I'll kill—"

"Shut up." Illaoi clapped her hand over Sejuani's mouth and received a painful bite. Still, she held on. "What does that mean?"

Soraka blinked as if seeing the two women for the first time. Her eyebrows knitted together and she quickly backed out of the room. The healer ignored the threats all the way from the room to the front door. It was when she was outside that she realized how wrong her actions had been. The sudden awareness of her sins were heighten by the audience of the heavens and the earth calling for her blood.

She did not look back.

...

Braum was in deep conversation with Frostheld's bookkeepers when Soraka appeared at his elbow. Her purple skin had goosebumps from her toes to her chin and he realized how poorly she was dressed.

"Welcome, healer. Pardon," He stepped away from the gray-haired men and women to talk with his friend. He was not old enough to remember her initial arrival to Frostheld, but he knew she was rather ancient, in the wise sense, and connected to Ashe somehow. Perhaps even to the other sisters, he was not sure and it was not his place to ask. Braum was just glad she was going to be present when the new era was ushered in by the long awaited cryophoenix.

After walking a fair distance from the crowd the slender woman stopped him.

"Braum, I know I can trust you. Ashe did and so do I; can I tell you a secret?"

"Of course. Any friend of Ashe is friend of mine."

"Thank you." She paused and he took her hands in both of his large ones. Encouraged, Soraka continued. "Braum, it's no secret that I'm old." Silence followed this omission. The large man looked thoroughly unsure of how to respond without offending her. He settled on a nervous chuckle. "I'm not being facetious, I'm very old. I've seen queens rise, men change and learn, and kingdoms blossom. I was immortal once and I am no longer. I tell you this because it's not anything new."

"I do not understand, healer. Speak plain."

"What I'm saying, Braum, is that there's going to be a change. Something bigger than us is going to happen soon."

"We come to same conclusion. Word spread fast." His hands unconsciously tightened around hers and she wondering how much pressure it would take to snap her bones. It was a pity she could not heal herself thanks to a cruel trick played by a higher power.

"Not quite. I've seen it before, believe me. With Ashe dead, a new balance is forming and you need to stop Tryndamere from ruining it." Soraka played into the general dislike of the king. Ashe had been counseled by friends, politicians, and foreign dignitaries not to marry a man as erratic as he, but her stubborn streak had reared its head and she followed through with the wedding. Their ill-advised union had cost the nation a functional relationship with the likes of Demacia and Ionia.

Before Braum could answer he was being hailed by a messenger clad in the royal uniform. The grim individual only spoke to the Freljordian man and to add insult to injury she used their native tongue. Little did she know that Soraka spoke it fluently.

"Olaf was seen wandering the edges of The Rise. Perhaps he is headed to the Ursine settlement; we lost him yesterday evening." The messenger shot a side glare at Soraka who listened with a blank expression. The Rise the messenger spoke of was a series of bluffs ringing the backside of Frostheld. They faced Sejuani's territory more than they did Ashe's, making it a good place for both reconnaissance and ranged attack. The passage Illaoi and Quinn had taken to get to Frostheld was located in the twisting tunnels under The Rise.

Braum's reply came after a moment of deliberation. His actions meant more now that the city looked to him for more than his stout heart, but for his military training. In the absence of rulers the bearded man had to take up a pseudo-command role.

He rubbed his chin and looked at Soraka.

"Tell none, Juale. Wandering is not a crime. Return when real news is here." Braum replied in common tongue, clearly not pleased with the direct exclusion of his friend.

Juale nodded and ran to the city gate where she slipped back into position.

"Can I help?" Braum's heart went out to the healer's downcast face. The overcast afternoon only perpetuated the miserable shadows on her forehead. In her eyes was a familiar hint of goodbye. Braum doubted he would see her for a long while, if ever again.

"I've taken too much of your time already, thank you."

"If I had right words to make you stay, I would tell it to you. I don't even have right poro snack." He rummaged around his pockets for added effect, but the healer's face did not reflect humor. "Come back to see Braum, okay? Now go with Avarosa's blessing."

"Thank you." Her reply lingered until the next current of wind swept it high above the city and into the black clouds.

* * *

"How could you let her go?! SHE LET PEOPLE DIE!"

Scarcely two minutes had gone by since Soraka's exit, when Sejuani exploded. The anger had simmered, then boiled, and finally bubbled over and the aftermath was ugly. Sejuani's emotions had superseded her common sense and she had flipped the table, scattering whatever paper's and books Soraka had kept there, and ended her rampage by tipping the iron furnace over with her bare hands. Burning coals skittered around the room then quickly died out, plunging the room into a smokey darkness where the only light was from the judgmental Eye of God.

Illaoi was unimpressed and showed it by ignoring the scene. Burning flesh wafted through the air, which was to be expected when one touched a hot surface. However, if Sejuani was hurting, she did not show it. She looked around the room for more things to destroy, but there was little in the way of breakable items. She turned on Illaoi instead, thinking her to be a weak target.

" _YOU_ did this! You let us die!"

Illaoi looked the wasted princess up and down, wondering how hard she could hit her before something broke. Maybe one hit wouldn't hurt...

"Even if that were true, what could you do about it?"

"Get my revenge on you, that bitch," here Illaoi inferred that she meant Soraka, "and then my sisters."

"Those are tall orders for someone who has been cut down to size."

Sejuani gripped a table leg and broke it off with a savage yank. "Try and stop me."

"Why would I want to? I'm not petty enough to call myself your ally or enemy, I'm here to set you on your path. If you're lucky I won't break your spine."

"I DON'T NEED YOUR HELP!"

Illaoi easily caught the wooden table leg as Sejuani swung it. It was snapped in two and thrown behind her.

"You haven't learned your lesson, child." Sejuani received an open handed slap which sent her tumbling. "I thought Nagakabouros called only the strong, but I suppose gods are allowed to make mistakes every once and a while. But you're no god and you've made too many errors."

Illaoi picked the prone woman up by the shoulders and shook her violently. "Revenge is a wasted endeavor. You'll never make it as far if your plan ends where your sword begins. What is it you want?"

"Let me go!"

"Say it!"

"Let me GO!"

"Not until you tell me; now, _say it!_ "

"I will avenge my people!"

"NO."

" _I will!_ Then I will take the Freljord as mine! Now let me go!"

Sejuani fell unceremoniously to the ground. Apparently her answer was satisfactory for now and the dark skinned woman was placated. She picked up her wounded pride and sat in the furthest corner of the room, a white will-o-the-wisp against the far wall. In the darkness of the room her tears were almost unnoticeable. Almost.

...

The front door creaked open to let Soraka in. It was late afternoon, though it could have easily been mistaken for evening. Few people were outside and those that were had the job of making sure everyone knew Anivia was arriving. The news was a boon to the grieving city and the residents crowded into the foyer of the castle.

It was no trouble for Soraka to slip away and make it home without being confronted. Everyone had been busy flocking to Braum and the bookkeepers for signs and affirmation. Fortunately for Soraka, she had heard enough and was ready to come clean.

"Oof!" The healer walked straight into the hard wall of Illaoi's chest. They were standing in the room closest to the front door and a fire roared merrily in the background. "I— is there— where is she?" She spluttered, looking to see if Sejuani was nearby.

"Not imprisoned, if that's what you're really asking. I've had some time to think about your drugging method—" Illaoi was interrupted by Soraka's sharp instructions.

"You can kill me later if that's what will make you happy. Right now we have to leave."

"Oh? Says who?"

"Me," A silent, 'you clown', was hidden in Soraka's sarcasm. "Anivia is coming and it's near impossible to hide something from her, believe me."

"I'm finding it harder and harder to do that. Give me a reason to listen to you."

"That's fair, I'd like to see you take on a bird that can't die. You may think your big and bad, but she's bigger and badder." Soraka saw the hard edge in Illaoi's eyes and knew she was getting nowhere. "Anivia is the true guardian of the Freljord. She sleeps until the right time come for her to fight and start the new era. The last time she was seen was when the princess before Ashe was murdered. Aria was her name, you can look it up if you want to waste your time.

Anyways, there's an Ursine village a day's march from here and that's where we need to go. If we leave right now Anivia won't be able to follow without abandoning her obligations to…" Soraka's voice petered out towards the end, unwilling to disclose their location should Sejuani be listening.

Illaoi's face did not change throughout the whole exchange. Did Soraka find her so gullible?

"If this bird is so 'strong' and 'all powerful' why hasn't she ended this war herself? I don't believe a word you say."

"Because she's a coward." Soraka jumped at Sejuani's voice. The princess had been hanging in the recess of the dark hallway. She now stepped into the ring of light where the burned skin on her fingers and palms shone. Soraka turned a blind eye to the injuries sustained from the furnace and focused on the short distance separating them. Surely Illaoi would intervene should the crazed woman decide to strike again, right?

"You know she works for no one. Your ambitions got in the way of her helping you, just like your mother and her mother before her. All of you are the same."

Sejuani's eyes were thin slits that bored holes into Soraka's head.

Illaoi was sick of being on the outside of most conversations. It was like being fed a tome one letter at a time.

"How does this explain why your bird is awake?"

"Of course you don't know," The purple woman said more to herself than anyone else. "She drifts closer to whatever sister is more interested in establishing a balance in Freljord, but that's as far as her involvement goes."

"Why is she awake?"

"I'm not her keeper, Illaoi, I don't know everything. What I _do_ know is that one of Winter's Claw's allies are headed to the Ursine village and we should be on our way too. Whatever is waking up a guardian should be our concern too."

That was hardly the solid answer Illaoi had been looking for. It was one thing to follow her god into this wasteland, but it was another to trust a shady apothecary. The relic glowed in sympathy to her moral plight, but there was no comfort to be found in it. "So what is it we do?"

Sejuani cleared her throat to answer this, her cold eyes calculating every move necessary to make revenge first on her list. In a low, steady voice she said: "Take me to my boar."

* * *

 **a/n:** So this chapter took way too long to write and it wasn't what I wanted it to be, but I couldn't sit on it for another week. Between classes (actual hell) and writer's block, I didn't get much done. RIP in piece.


	9. Not All Who Wander are Lost

Sejuani's head hit her chest with a muted _whuff_ and she jerked awake. The black fingers of sleep stroked her eyelids in time to the swaying of Bristle's back, however she fought the urge to close her eyes. It was tempting to sleep on Bristle's saddle, she had many times before, but circumstances were different as was her company. The four travelers, with the boar included, trudged through knee-deep snow towards an elusive destination. The Ursine village had been thought to have been located a half-day's walk from Winter's Claw, though with the wind whipping them from every side it was hard to stay on track. Sejuani used the ragged mountain peaks as a marker for them to reach before nightfall.

For the past few hours none in the party had complained. Morale seemed to be holding up nicely, albeit on a taught thread. Soraka trailed a few meters behind Bristle and his rider while Illaoi plodded on tirelessly beside them. The priestess had taken up to chanting in a tongue none in the party could understand. To Soraka's ears it sounded like a passionate conversation with an unseen partner, perhaps her god?, and she did not dare break the communion. Sejuani felt rather than heard the words. Accompanied with the swaying of the saddle and the low incantation, it was all the right conditions to induce sleep on even the most stoic of souls. Perhaps Sejuani could just close her eyes for one second...

 _Whuff._ Sejuani jolted awake.

"I didn't enjoy drugging anyone, that's not a lie." Soraka commented. "It should leave your system in a day or two and you'll feel fine. You have to understand it was not only for your own good, but everyone—"

"Silence!" Bristle's reins were yanked in the healer's direction and he swerved his great body toward her. The slender woman lost her footing in an effort to avoid his sharp tusks.

"Being that you are only someone driven by hate, you may have mistaken my kindness for weakness. I could call down the starts to kill you, I swear it."

"Save your bluffing for someone who doesn't know what you've done. You don't scare me."

Soraka did not have to see Sejuani's eyes to know that all had not been forgiven. She had not expected it, truth be told, but it was nice to dream that her thankless job would be recognized in some way other than scorn.

Much to Bristle's dislike, his reins were wrenched in the opposite direction. He roared loud enough to shake loose snow off the sheer cliff faces and send a strong echo through the bowl-like valley they were passing through. A primordial shriek answered from all sides without an identifiable origin in sight. This was a sound those from Freljord knew well.

"AUGH!" Illaoi and her relic fell limb over stone into a snow bank, followed shortly by the determined face of Sejuani. "Get off m—"

 _"Shut up."_

Over their combined breathing an unsettling sound arose: the rapid beating of wings. It sent fear down the back of Soraka and Sejuani, but Illaoi could not comprehend how this sound meant anything other than good news. The beating went on for a minute or two and the closer it got the more rigid Sejuani's body grew.

It wasn't until the sound had been gone for over a solid minute that Sejuani rolled off her companion and surveyed the scene. Deep tracks in the snow showed where Bristle had charged away in fear of the attacker finding him.

"What was—" Illaoi's question was rudely shut down.

"Shut up. She could be close."

"Who?"

"How _dense_ are you people? Anivia."

Illaoi fought the impulse to put the bossy woman into another coma. It was so tempting to just knock her out with one slap— it wouldn't be hard— but they had somewhere to be. Instead of acting on her desire to hit someone, the priestess glanced around for any sign of Soraka. There! A snowbank shuddered and out stepped the healer.

"She's not looking for us."

"Of course she's not looking for _you._ " Sejuani snapped. "You're not important. She's on her way to find that stupid bastard, so that means I need to get to Volibear before she comes back." She didn't wait for Illaoi or Soraka to follow as she waded through Bristle's tracks. She'd make it to the village tonight, even if the journey killed her… and it just might.

* * *

Olaf thought himself to be a rather jovial man. He often told stories of glory— all his— and bought drinks for all those who stuck around to hear the tales of heroism, but he couldn't understand why he had so few friends. In fact, he had two. Three if you counted the boar (which he did). Sejuani and Volibear were the only two people he considered to be his equals in war and it was always a pleasure to unite with them under the same banner. When the Noxians invaded, Olaf had taken great pleasure in cutting men and women down with the aide of Winter's Claw. With Volibear's contribution, the holy trinity was able to defeat their common foe.

It seemed that Freljord was in need of the three great powers again. Olaf found himself sitting in the shaman's long house with a tankard of ale resting untouched on the table. He didn't drink much, but today might be a good day to start again.

Volibear pushed through a screen of leather flaps with a somber expression. "Yes, it's hers." In one of his great paws was a bola made of True Ice. It looked out of place in his plate-sized fist, not because of its size, but because it was never seen without its owner. Volibear took a seat across Olaf and placed the heavy weapon next to the untouched alcohol. His black eyes flicked up to read the consternation on Olaf's face. "What of Sejuani? Surely she was nearby."

"No, but I didn't hang around. I knew something was changing in the winds and had to leave as soon as I could. I was hoping you could practice some of your magic stuff and see if she was alive." Olaf's understanding of Volibear's craft was tenuous at best. "I have a theory of who did it, but I want you to take a look first."

"I don't deal with the dead, Olaf. That was never the gift I was given, but that doesn't mean she's dead. How did you find her bola?"

"It was in the snow outside Winter's Claw… or what was left of it anyways. I know it wasn't Ashe; not her style. Lissandra was definitely behind it— there was black ice on the ground! That shit doesn't melt or go away, you know? It was like… there was that time! Remember? How could anyone forget." The bearded man spoke with his hands where words failed. He was about to launch into more evidence of the Ice Witch's involvement in the destruction of the settlement when a paw stopped him.

"Come."

Olaf followed closely with his axes at the ready. The shaman's house was set at the edge of the village, an arguably good spot to see anything approaching but poor in the way of attracting visitors. From here the two friends could see a beast charging towards them. Olaf tensed up, eager to let his nervous energy out on anything that did not declare itself an ally. His friend was less impulsive and equipped with a keener sense of vision.

"Don't! That's Bristle!"

And it was. The boar was frothing at the mouth and breathing hard, but definitely alive. Volibear and Olaf waited for him to approach while more curious villagers crowded around the entrance to the settlement. It was a rare sight to see Bristle without Sejuani— in fact it was unheard of! Every visit she paid was on the back of her trusted companion. How uncanny that the princess' bola _and_ her boar would show up without their master.

Volibear did not believe in coincidences, neither did Olaf. Seven strong members of the community wrangled Bristle into the livestock pen where the cows and sheep ignored his frenzied behavior.

The great shaman looked to the skies where dark clouds hung low. It reminded him of the time he first came into his power. It was on the highest peak of his territory, though it had become a spot in which others tried to recreate the conditions that brought him his divine power. Now, the clouds did not drop lightning from their canopies, rather thick, blue-tinted flakes of snow. One landed on Volibear's snout and he swiped it away.

"This is Anivia's work." The bear declared.

"Gods! How did you know that? I don't see anything." Olaf had to admit, there was something about this storm that didn't sit well with him. He tried to stay out of the supernatural struggle Sejuani was tangled in and focus on the people that bled and died. He didn't care much for a bird he couldn't kill.

Rather than answer, Volibear went into his home and returned a few minutes later. In his paws he carried the bola like it were a newborn. Olaf was too heated to notice this.

"That must mean Sejuani's dead. That sneaky bitch is going to break like a twig! She won't unite _my_ Freljord!" The axes in his hands spun over and over in a dizzying pattern. He'd gut the soft queen like a pig, no offense to Bristle, and feed her scraps to the eels. Yes! That's what he'd do!

"Did you hear what I said?"

"Huh?"

The axes dropped as his head was turned back to the dusky horizon. There was less than an hour of light left, but with the cloud coverage they'd be lucky to get even half of that.

"What am I looking for?"

"Sejuani."

"She's dead! You said so yourself!"

"No, _you,_ said so. I can smell her."

"You're just smelling Bristle— "

A deep throated roar erupted from Volibear. It was rare for him to lose composure and even rarer for him to snap so violently at an ally.

" _Serylda!_ I got it! No need for that." Olaf squinted in earnest this time. He wasn't sure if it was the intense gaze on his neck causing a hallucination or the desire to believe Sejuani was alive, but a very dim light seemed to be beaming from beyond the settlement. It wavered a few times and went out, only to be picked up a few paces to the right. "You see that, right?"

"Of course I do." Came the huffy reply.

"Well, I'm no lightning priest, but I guess we're seeing something… well, it's not a miracle. Freljord has many enemies, it could be anyone."

The light was moving slowly but surely toward the Ursine village. None of the other villagers seemed to notice in the confusion surrounding Bristle.

"You don't have to be a shaman to see miracles, Olaf."

"I guess I do, because that's not Sejuani."

While the light had been swaying, Olaf thought long and hard about the light so far away. It seemed familiar… but not in the good kind of way. Seeing the greenish hue tickled the back of his brain in a way he did not like. Also, an inner, more vulnerable part of him squirmed as well.

"What do you mean by that?" Volibear saw a grimace flash across his friend's face followed by a deep frown. "Who are you not saying, Olaf?"

"That's not Sejuani."

Olaf was plunged into a memory he had not dwelled upon in years. Thirteen years to be perfectly accurate. This memory was one that he did not count as a victory, rather a loss, and the woman at the heart of it was not one he thought of fondly. She had beaten the literal soul out of him and he had never forgotten her face. She was handsome, dark, and full of pride.

 _I am Illaoi,_ she had said. _Be happy the Mother has accepted your tithe!_

At the time Olaf had not known who the Mother was and after so many years, he still did not know. He didn't want to either. If this 'Mother' was anything like her 'daughter', then he'd travel the furthest away from Bilgewater as he possibly could. And that was how he had gotten to Freljord. He vowed to never meet the supernatural being who called that crazy woman to him.

 _Serylda, if you haven't passed on to Valhalla, turn her away._ Olaf prayed to a spirit he did not believe in. To Volibear he said, "You better call the council; your life is about to get more complicated."

...

Olaf waited outside the large meeting hall. He wasn't a huge fan of long talks unless he was the one doing the talking. So, rather than listen to Volibear ramble about a supposed war, he juggled his time between throwing axes and checking the progress of Illaoi.

The ghostly light seemed to have stopped for a while and did not move. Olaf felt a kindling of spirituality growing in his heart, but he doubted Serylda had actually halted the priestess' advance. Few outsiders fared well against Freljord; that included the strongest of women.

 _When she gets close enough, I'll show her what I think of her mother!_ Had any sane person taken a look at Olaf at this exact moment, they may have concluded he was suffering from a seizure. His hands twitched, as did his facial whiskers, and he let out occasional barks of laughter. Luckily most Ursine had filtered into the hall to hear what Volibear had to say.

The meeting concluded with the chieftain assembling a search party to look for the missing princess. Volibear respected the elder-bear but wondered whether her decision to look for a body was founded on her extreme dislike of war. Still, now was not the time to question her openly. He'd wait until they were in private to hash out a more effective plan.

The spot Olaf had been occupying was empty when Volibear came upon it. The bear considered following his obvious trail or going to speak with the chief. Olaf was a capable man, albeit a bit of a loose canon, but he wouldn't do anything dumb. Volibear didn't waste anymore time thinking about it as he strode back into the hall.

By the time he had gotten an audience, the first search party had left.

* * *

They weren't far from the village that Sejuani collapsed. The elements, constant fear of being discovered by Anivia, and general fatigue swept her feet out from under her. Illaoi wasted no time in plucking her wasted body from the snow and carrying her in a hug-like manner to the outskirts of Volibear's territory. Sejuani's head rested in the crook of Illaoi's neck and shoulder where she found it easy to tuck her cold face into the priestess' furs. Every once and a while her breath would hitch and stutter like a broken record, but then it would start up again.

Illaoi worried what feeling their motley party would arouse in whoever owned this land. If Sejuani did in fact die in her arms, she and Soraka would have a hard time explaining what happened. Even now, neither outsider knew the true cause or details surrounding the attack on Winter's Claw. It would not be helpful for Soraka to mention she knew Ashe was plotting some kind of attack on her sister, though it were true.

Illaoi paused to collect her bearings. Bristle's tracks had led them right where they needed to go. It appeared they were at the base of a rise where the village could look down on approaching visitors. No doubt that's what they were doing now. Some movement could be tracked in the fading afternoon light.

Soraka stared listlessly at the white expanse; perhaps exhaustion was catching up with her too. Illaoi felt tired too, but she had not come this far to stop. No flying chicken could stop her from getting a proper night's sleep.

Illaoi's feet carried her up the gradual incline. Lights began to awaken on the hill the closer they got. Her relic added its glow to the choir of lights and Illaoi felt the power surge through her legs. She could make it these last few meters and then take off her boots and eat—

A cry broke Illaoi's concentration and she stumbled. Sejuani fell unceremoniously to the ground where she was joined a second later by Illaoi.

Four large bears, all white with black noses, had their paws on Soraka and were forcibly dragging her to the entrance of the village. A bear standing on two legs looked down at the pitiful woman. A crowd of curious bears adorned in various armor and robes gathered behind the leader and seemed to wait on her verdict. Beside her a man of short stature brandished two axes, ready to swing on command.

Suddenly Illaoi felt very exposed. She didn't have much regard for the underhanded healer, but she knew the key to getting home was hidden somewhere in this mess of war and politics. Perhaps it was tied to the fate of the unconscious woman in the snow. There was only one way to find out.

Illaoi got to her feet with much effort. The movement drew attention from Soraka's grating cries and soon the host of bears were focused only on the dark skinned woman.

"She's got Sejuani!"

The name spread like wildfire among the bears. Soon they were surging on either side of Illaoi and gently lifting her limp body from the snow. The majority of the crowd followed the procession while a few hung back to the determine the fate of the two foreigners. Of those who stayed behind, the most notable was the human man and a bear crackling with electricity. His fur stood on end and he bared his teeth at Soraka.

" _You!"_ He snarled. It looked like he was about to take a bite out of her, but thought better of it.

The bear who seemed to hold the most authority finally spoke. Her voice was like that of a sweet summer's day, an odd sound for such a desolate land. "Soraka. Many years have passed yet that name does not fade. I know more about you than I do myself, which is to say much."

"Let's kill her!" The human spoke up. His voice was eager as were his axes. However, the leader did not share in his enthusiasm.

"No, Olaf. That's not how we Ursine work. The world of man is chaos, but ours is of order. Volibear, Korin, Naoke, Totel, and I will be the council that determines your fate." The last part was addressed to Soraka. The pale skinned starchild looked small next to the hulking bears. She no longer screamed, rather she seemed to be collecting herself, though the fear never left her eyes.

"You forgot me," Illaoi dusted the eye of God off and hoisted it onto her shoulder.

"I didn't forget you," The man named Olaf barked. Illaoi admitted he did have a rather familiar look about him. Still, she tested so many souls it was hard to keep track of them all.

"You will remain in the camp. What do they call you?"

"Illaoi."

"A strong name."

"And an even harder hit."

"Well met, Illaoi. I am Ursa, the leader of this clan. You have done my brothers and sisters no harm, but you are not from here and would not benefit from this trial. Go. Olaf, see to it that she has something to eat."

Olaf didn't feel terribly inclined to help the woman who had almost bested him. He stalked away not bothering to offer any help to the exhausted priestess. She'd have to find her own way, just like he had.

Illaoi didn't pay any mind to the retreating form of her 'guide'. She had come this far on faith and determination. She still had both intact and needed no one to tell her how to fend for herself. She found herself following the stream of Ursine to an infirmary where Sejuani was being treated by delicate paws. It was an odd sight to see animals taking care of a human, but Illaoi had seen stranger.

There was an unoccupied bed in the corner of the room. Illaoi settled into the nook and closed her eyes, not to sleep, but to meditate. It was time to commune with the one who called her. It was time to get some answers.

It was time to talk to god.

* * *

 **a/n:** I'd like to take a moment to thank Chrosis for their continued support. Each comment makes me feel like a winner and I hope everyone has someone this kind and special in their life. This thank you also extends to anyone who has made it this far in Hell and High Water; you're all truly outrageous ;)


	10. Enemy of My Enemy Pt1

If one was looking for a place offering peace or quiet, the infirmary was not the place to begin. Every-bear wanted to be the one that saved Sejuani from the effects of exhaustion or the pneumonic cough she had developed, however few possessed the skill to do so. The princess lay on one of the human-sized beds the clinic was outfitted with. A wall of armor and fur blocked most from getting too close to the few bears who were proficient in human medicine.

Olaf was among those who waited outside the circle. He watched Sejuani's drawn face with hooded eyes; whoever had done this to the rightful heir to the Freljord would fall to his axes. Once his friend woke up she'd be able to confirm his suspicions and then he'd be able to begin his campaign of justice or whatever violence called itself theses days. Until then, he'd just have to... wait.

He _hated_ waiting.

A wide bear named Yanuk broke apart from the eager crowd to sit beside Olaf. He was an older member of the community and with joints that frequently betrayed his age. He negotiated his weight into a chair, then switched to a larger one that easily accommodated his rotund figure. His throaty voice was one Olaf did not mind to hear; in fact he liked it almost as much as hearing his own voice, which was very much in case anyone asked.

Yanuk cleared his throat before asking, "Why the long face?"

"It's the same face I wear every day, Yanuk. What's your excuse for being ugly?"

"It's the same face _I_ wear every day. I ought to eat you, but you haven't bathed in over a week."

Olaf grunted at the friendly banter, but did not wish to engage any further. His attention was focused on the pale form in the bed. He was so convinced Soraka was working in collusion with Lissandra or Ashe (it didn't really matter to him) that if one hair was found missing from Sejuani's head, he'd kill the starchild. Well, he'd kill her anyways, but it'd make for a better tale if he had a reason.

Yanuk's knees cracked obnoxiously as he stretched his legs out. The sound brought Olaf's attention back to where the conversation was being picked up once more.

"You know Sejuani's an Ursine at heart. Betrayal won't kill her as fast as pushing herself to conquer the whole world will. Olaf? Olaf. Are you hearing me? I say this as a friend: you get so fixated on the big picture that you forget there's individual threads that make up the tapestry."

"I don't follow you."

"Don't you? You and Sej have the same ambitions, haven't you ever wondered why you two got along so well? She is not called 'friend' by many- Oh, don't get your underwear into a twist, I'm just talking." Even sitting, the great bear was a full foot and a half taller than the bearded man. He looked down into Olaf's cagey eyes. "The two of you only see the big picture: taking out the competition so you can move onto larger enterprises. For Sejuani that's her sisters, for you, well, you're doing something like that. You're looking for the next baddest person to fight until the right one takes you out."

"You make it sound less valiant than it is."

"Are you not a ticking bomb? One day you'll meet someone as big and bad as you think you are and they may just sweep you off your stubby legs. It won't be a far fall, trust me. You're so close to the ground, you may mistake it for tripping." Yanuk's attempt to remove the glum expression from Olaf's face fell flat. It didn't so much as budge.

"What does any of that crap have to do with me?"

"I didn't know you were still listening to me."

"You're too ugly to ignore. Spill your guts."

"Ha! If Sej doesn't start fixing the gaps in the little pictures, the bigger one will never make sense. She needs to set her goals on righting the wrong that's in front of her before she can tackle leading the country. She's damaged a lot of relationships in her need for conquest and the only way she'll get to the throne is through rallying us around her. I don't have the foggiest idea how she's gonna deal with that Starchild, although I'm sure Ursa has some choice words for her, but she has to come to terms that Ashe has something to do with this mess. And you, well, you just need a good _smack_ to get you going."

Olaf was cuffed by a heavy paw. Though his body barely gave way, the corners of his lips did. He smiled and elbowed the ample girth of the aging bear.

"You're dumb, you know that."

"And your mother was a terrible cook, but I don't have time to go over how much worse her singing was. Ha! I have someone I'd like to talk to before I lose them, but we're not done, friend. Come see me later." Yanuk rose with a choir of popping joints. He disappeared into the sea of white and iron, leaving Olaf alone with his thoughts.

The bear had left Olaf much to think on. Perhaps he was right and there were things that needed to be sorted out on the ground level before she took off after her sisters. For instance, the barbarian princess had made few allies, but did nothing to follow up on their readiness for war. In the case of the Ursine they were at a crossroads in their political journey: Ursa desired to keep her kin safe and work alongside Sejuani, but her efforts consisted of maintaining the relative peace instead of seizing fate by the horns. This was 'peace' was not what Olaf or Sejuani wanted. Even the shaman, Volibear, had views that contradicted his chieftain's impulses.

The Ursine milling about the infirmary were of the peaceful, diplomatic nature. As Olaf surveyed the room he counted a handful of those who sided with he and Sejuani's ideology. However, in the mix was a face he did not want to see: Illaoi. She sat like a gargoyle with one hand perched on the heavy relic and the other resting on her knee; both eyes were closed and her lips sent silent prayers to whatever hell-verse she called home. What was truly unsettling were the ghostly green-blue tentacles surrounding her. The bear folk either didn't see it or chose not to acknowledge their presence, but it was something Olaf could not bring himself to ignore. It reminded him of the horrid 'god' that had sucked his soul out and beat it half to death. He wondered if the same test had been done to Sej. If she had undergone such a challenge, her indomitable spirit should have passed with little effort. She was a titan— a real force to be reckoned with! However, even those that passed sustained serious injuries. There were no new marks to prove Olaf's suspicions that Sejuani had been tested. In fact, there were only scratches and minor punctures found on the barbarian.

The attack on Winter's Claw was scarcely a fortnight ago, yet the wounds on Sejuani's body suggested she had months of healing. There was only one who had the magic to do something as remarkable, yet heinous acts. That person was on trial.

A window in the wall of bears appeared and through the gap Sejuani could be seen once more. One of the medics was positioned over her with a comically large pair of scissors and Olaf forgot that these creatures were better trained than he was in the art of treating the wounded. He barreled through the throng until he was standing closest to the one holding the instrument. He watched the metal slice through the fabric of her clothes and almost stopped the paws when the blades got caught on an unseen snag. At last, Sej's pale chest was revealed to be wrapped in gauze. The onlookers seemed shocked.

To protect Sejuani's pride and dignity, the bear holding the metal instrument demanded the infirmary be vacated. At first none moved, then with the growing threats of disembowelment, they moved. Still, the thought that Soraka had violated Sej's body with her dark magic was racing through Olaf's mind. Why were none of the other bears making this connection- unless they had and were conspiring along with Soraka to keep Sejuani from assuming control!

Oh my gods, he had just cracked open a conspiracy! He had to tell someone!

He got up to run to Volibear and share his great knowledge, but halfway to the door he felt a pair of eyes on the back of his head. He didn't need to look any further than the corner of the room where Illaoi was no longer meditating. Her glowing eyes were fixed to his and she did not smile. Olaf knew more than anything— more than _almost_ anything— that he wanted that priestess dead. However, talking to Volibear was more important at this very second. He knew the village guest would not be harmed while Ursa still played leader and the rest of her clan followed.

 _It's a good thing I'm no Ursine,_ Olaf mused. He scurried out of the infirmary with the assurance that he would take her down when the odds were in his favor.

* * *

Volibear was not a fan of trials or passive forms of questioning. He was a bear of action- say the word and he was there! He tried not to rush his superior's trial— he knew how much she valued equity and thoroughness even when it didn't make sense to apply these ethics to a guilty person; however, this was the wrong forum to discuss her methods. Soraka was never going to go free and it seemed pointless to try and provide a background for her betrayal. It was clear she worked for Ashe… quite possibly Lissandra, but the second didn't seem as likely. Perhaps information of her involvement in Sejuani's attack could be expedited if only Ursa allowed him to do the questioning.

They'd spent roughly an hour trying to suss out more than one word replies from the healer, but she was clever enough to say nothing incriminating. The guilty party stood on a platform at the head of the large chamber. Normally the speaker would mount the dais so their voice may project to the furthest stone bleacher, however in this instance it was used for the council to gain a better view of the offender. Soraka's face was now level with that of Ursa and Volibear. Her turn to speak had arrived and the Ursine waited with bated breath.

"No."

One of the members from the jury did not find this response agreeable. Had it not been for the shaman's tight grip on his shoulder, Soraka would have been eviscerated.

"Soraka, your side of the story doesn't seem to match up with the one we Ursine remember. I asked you if you had anything to do with the sinking of Ashe's ship or the attack on Winter's Claw, yet you lie. If you don't value your life as much as your story, then at least value your time. I ask you the same question." Ursa's voice was unyielding and icy.

"No."

"I find that hard to believe."

The hall was silent for a time. No bear or celestial spoke; there were no words to share. Finally, when it seemed that the air would burst from the tension, Soraka spoke up: "I'm hardly among friends, Ursa. I have nothing to say."

"That's a fine excuse for a liar. You're asking a tribe to accept your innocence when we have evidence of your role in this story, Starchild. Once Sejuani wakes up she'll be able to corroborate our suspicions. She is less forgiving than I, yet she has let you live and even brought you to our territory. What have you to say? What did she see in you that I cannot see?"

Volibear didn't want the dialogue to end there, but forces out of his control would have their way.

From the back of the auditorium came the sound of stone grating against stone. The rear door was opening. When it was thought the the obnoxious noise wouldn't end, a stout figure pushed its way through the gap. It was Olaf. In the light of the sconces his bristly eyebrows were pulled together in a scowl.

"You are not welcome, Olaf." Ursa growled. Her upper lip twitched and her teeth were exposed for a brief second.

"Yeah, yeah." He dismissed the reproof with a curt wave.

"Olaf." Volibear tried to read the expression on his friend's face. It seemed a mixture of confusion and triumph, although there was still that wild look in his eyes.

The red-haired man did not stop until he was standing between Soraka and Ursa. Both looked down on him, one with annoyance and the other with foreboding. He spoke to the council in the voice of one who held all the cards. "I have proof this demon is trying to play both sides."

Ursa did not deign to entertain his interruption and so the short man turned to his friend.

"Sejuani was wounded—"

"That's hardly news."

"—but she's been healed." After reading Volibear's silence as misunderstanding he added, "With magic."

"Magic." Volibear repeated.

"Magic. No one uses magic except _her_." No one needed a glossary of magic fiends in the Freljord to know that Lissandra was the witch Olaf alluded to. He turned to face Soraka now. "And her."

"What? She's not on trial for using magic; Soraka is answering for aiding Ashe in attempting to murder Sejuani and also aiding Lissandra." Ursa's hard exterior cracked and she followed Olaf with her dark, searching eyes. "On what grounds do you say she's used magic?"

"You don't get it." Olaf began toying with the straps securing his axes to his belt. "This witch is pitting all three against one another! She can heal! From the time the Claw was attacked and Sejuani taken by Ashe and Soraka, she's been healed with magic!"

"How can you know that? You don't have magic." Korin's paws curled involuntarily. "Do you?"

"No, don't be stupid. I've heard rumors and seeing Sejuani proves it. She has the magic that can heal and has used to try and play Sejuani and Ashe. I'm not sure about the dark sister, but I'm sure she's the source of this magic. It makes sense, right? If she can convert— if she can— I know—" Olaf was holding the shaft of an axe in a chokehold. He wrung it in time with his heavy breathing. Ursa and Volibear both knew that the leader of Olaf's clan had succumbed to Lissandra's power and fallen into the ranks of the Frostguard. Talking about the Ice Witch always got him riled up.

Volibear regarded the purple skinned woman with an impassive expression. Being a shaman, he did not consider his gift as magical, rather a supernatural boon. He had heard the same rumors of Soraka's supposed power and wondered to what extent she was proficient. Right now she was ready to talk:

"Is it a crime to work on behalf of the Freljord? Anivia and I are not with any faction or group— there's no need for us to separate the good from the bad, we already know to whom we answer, and it's not you. Holding me here is a waste of your time, you have more pressing concerns than wondering if I work for Ashe or Sejuani."

"Shut up! You don't work for Sejuani, you never have! All you and Ashe have been doing is forcing an alliance with Demacia— it may be time we align with Noxus!" Olaf's statement elicited unhappy responses from his present company. The three younger members of the council, Naoke, Korin, and Totel, spoke amongst themselves and shared heated words. Finally peace was restored and attention naturally reverted back to the chieftain.

"Eat your words, Olaf. Noxus is not welcome here, don't ever mention it again." Noxus had tried to excise Freljord's inhabitants by engaging in a homicidal campaign; the memory of that crusade burned bright in the minds of those who made it out alive. No one forgave. No one forgot.

"I didn't mean offense." Olaf knew he was not in a position to cross swords with his host. Though Ursa was sanguine by nature, she was among the troubled souls to escape the scourge; any talk of the invading force was met with righteous anger and bared teeth.

Olaf replaced the axe before continuing with zeal. "We were right to count Soraka as an enemy and I stand by that."

Volibear ignored the exchanges between Ursa and Olaf. He wasn't interested in the trouble Olaf usually got himself into; rather, the large bear was absorbed in deciphering Soraka's body language as well as her words. She had said she was working on behalf of the Freljord, but how could someone claiming to be a neutral party so clearly align themselves with Ashe? For Serylda's sake, the tattooed woman lived within the walls of Frostheld and whatever work she did in those walls remained a mystery to onlookers. There was something Soraka was not sharing and he would find out exactly what that was.

"You left Ashe to deliver Sejuani to us. Why did she not treat her own sister? There is evidence to prove that Ashe has access to some kind of medicine that has not been shared with the rest of Freljord which is an asset she would have shared under other circumstances, I know this. As the weakest, she is happy to share food and other spoils but not her medicine. Clearly we don't have the means to treat Sejuani with traditional human cures. Why did you come to us?"

"Is her health not enough for you? Her people were attacked and yet she lives. Take it for what it is: she's alive."

"No," He said in a patronizing tone. "She's half-dead. You know Ashe best and will answer in her place: did she attack her sister?"

"…"

The silence was exactly what Olaf had been waiting for. His axes had magically escaped their holsters; he twirled them as he crowed. "See! I knew I needed to be here! There's so many like you who don't fit into _our_ Freljord!"

Soraka did not rise to his inflammatory words. She looked down on his red face with pity and disgust. Ursa did not consider the man with the same emotions. She cuffed him hard on the back (hard enough to leave scratches on his favorite coat!) and pushed him in the direction of the door.

"Get out. You don't speak for us. We will continue this alone."

Olaf stared in disbelief at the clan's leader. Was she siding with the enemy? Had the Ursine village fallen to Lissandra's dark magic?

"Go, Olaf." Volibear's quiet rebuke hurt him more than Ursa's push.

But Olaf could not let it go. He squared his shoulders and drew up to his full height. "You're under her magic. All of you."

And then he threw his axe.

* * *

 **a/n:** Ahoy there, friends. As you may have noticed, I've had to slow down updates and transition to a longer time between chapters. University has been a little crazy, but I value your patience and engagement.

**This chapter has been cut in half and I'm going to post part two in a week or so… I'm running a bit behind, but I haven't forgotten this story!


	11. Enemy of My Enemy Pt2

**a/n:** This is picking up from part 1 of Something Borrowed, Something Black (ch 10)

* * *

Olaf woke with an ache that stretched from the crown of his head to the end of his spine. It felt like he had been struck by a bolt of lightning: his finger tips buzzed and his nose caught the faintest hint of charred hair. He lay on the stone floor in a prone position without a shred of dignity or a single clue as to how he had gotten there. Above him stood Korin, his fur standing on end and his face unreadable. "Voli…hit me…?" He choked in disbelief. If Korin heard, he did not show. His attention was focused on what was happening on the podium.

With much effort Olaf craned his neck to see who had stolen his thunder. He half expected to see Ursa grappling with Volibear—that had to explain why Olaf had been thrown to the side. Volibear would be on his side, right?

Wrong.

Olaf took a moment to process what was going before him. Perhaps he had been hit harder than he thought… that made more sense than Soraka healing Ursa, which wouldn't happen... Unless the Ursine were accepting help from traitors. Soraka's hards were stretched over a patch of fur on Ursa's shoulder as if she were about to touch the dark blood. A wispy tongue of magic came from her hands and wove together the torn skin and muscle. Olaf watched with dark fascination— this was heresy! _Magic!_ He knew he had to complete the thankless job he started: eradicating magic from Freljord. If he couldn't use his axes he'd have to rely on his hands.

Volibear looked up in time to see the dark transformation coming over Olaf's features. Together he and Korin wrestled the whiskered man out of the auditorium and dumped him unceremoniously into the snow. Volibear waited in angry silence while Olaf swung in and out of rational thought. Between the fits of profanity and death-threats, Korin disappeared to check on the state of Sejuani without so much as a sympathetic glace toward his kin.

Olaf paused mid-tantrum and fixed a judgmental eye on his friend. "What is your problem?! I almost had Soraka! If Ursa didn't get in my way, we could be on our way to Frostheld right now!"

"Have you lost your mind? _I_ don't have a problem, _you_ do! You need to get your _anger_ and your _axes_ under control."

"I threw my axes at a _witch_! We have to go back in and kill her. Next time you tell your _leader_ to get the hell out of my way. I won't hesitate to kill her if she stops me again."

"You can't just kill someone if they don't agree with you, Olaf. There's an order to life around here, you can't do what you want. That's not how we work."

"Ugh, again with the rules! You should be thanking me! I was doing you all a favor!"

"Keep your voice down."

Their voices were carrying over the encampment and turning heads of curious individuals. Conscious of his new audience, Volibear dropped his voice to where it carried just above the wind and no more. He hoped his partner would have enough sense to lower his voice as well.

"We don't want your help. We don't _need_ it."

This threw Olaf into another rampage and he stomped in an angry square. Caught between his duty to be a friend and his obligation to the Ursine people, Volibear decided to clear his mind by turning his face into the strong wind. Up here by the auditorium was a good place to look out onto the rest of the camp. Set up like Winter's Claw prior to destruction, the settlement had a sloped incline in which the majority of land could be viewed. Some bears were busy trying to brush the coarse hair on Bristle's back while others were moving in and out of long houses with purpose; their shadowy forms were illuminated by lanterns burning bright against the indigo sky.

Olaf was too wrapped up in his monologue to notice that Volibear was no longer listening. He had lost his audience a while back. It was when he made an inflammatory comment about Ursa's flawed leadership did he realize Volibear hadn't said a word in over five minutes. The wind had picked up and Olaf had to shout twice in order to be heard.

"Volibear!" Olaf felt more spooked than he liked to admit. He checked his peripheries just to be sure they were alone. All clear. "Did you hear me?"

Evidently Volibear heard and was not interested in answering. He held up a claw for Olaf to be quiet. "I'm thinking."

"Yeah, of course you are. Do whatever the hell you want, I'm not staying here."

Olaf maneuvered down the slope with care to avoid tripping on buried hazards. His mind was made up: clearly the Ursine were tied up in whatever the hell diplomacy meant, so he would have to do everything himself. First he'd find Tryndamere and kill him, then sack Frostheld, and somehow squeeze overthrowing Ursa and killing Soraka into the mix as well. It was a tall order for a short man, but he could do it. Hopefully.

He was almost to the bottom when Volibear leapt past him on all fours and barreled down the rest of the incline. This startled Olaf out of his thoughts causing him to lose his footing and slide down the remaining 20 feet. He was ready to curse and defame the shaman, but there was a frenzied manner in which his friend moved that did not sit well with him. The stout barbarian bottled his anger for the time being and decided he would follow from the shadows.

...

It wasn't until they had changed direction for the third time that Olaf felt the need to say something. The buildings had thinned out, as did the number of villagers, and he had the distinct impression they were being watched by unfriendly eyes.

"What are we doing here, Voli?"

The great creature shook his head as if waking up from a trance. "You can't feel that?"

"Feel what?"

Rather than answer the question, he began walking forward like a creature under a spell. Olaf trailed behind warily; he was deathly afraid of the dark and was very aware that a few lanterns along the passage leading to and from the settlement had blown out. Volibear did not seem to notice the discomfort his friend was experiencing attributed to the reduced visibility. He was too busy listening to a voice that was calling to him from the inside. It beckoned him to walk past the last of the unlit lanterns and into the dark expanse which looked so inviting… all he had to do was go a few feet further.

So he did.

Olaf watched him from the ring of light being cast by the lantern closest to the exit. His fear would let him go no further, so he watched Volibear with a pit of dread anchored in his stomach. He had seen the shaman follow hokum urges before, but this one was frightening and not like the others.

A part of Volibear felt the same unease as Olaf. He likened his immediate situation to a passenger within his own body: unable and unwilling to stop whatever was happening. Thoughts about protecting the Freljord against Lissandra morphed into a desire to know what absolute power was. He no longer wanted to serve under or even beside Sejuani— he wanted to rule the Freljord. He could do it all on his own! He respected Sejuani and did not desire to take the throne from her, but there was a darker part of him that thirsted for the authority to do as he pleased. The family struggle would become obsolete once he came into his full power and even Anivia wouldn't be able to shake him from the throne. The power he had harnessed from the lightning was enough for small tricks, but he needed the ability to command Runeterra. Lissandra could give him that power. It was time for a new era. One that started with the Ursine on top.

 _"Yes, I can give you anything you want_ _…_ " The voice in Volibear's head promised.

It was so inviting and full of assurance, Volibear felt sure if he asked for power he would receive it. Through the fog that filled his head, he heard someone calling. It was Olaf.

"Hey! There's nothing out there!"

Through sheer will, Volibear was able to snap out of the waking coma Lissandra cast upon him. He dropped to all fours and took off in the direction of safety; he was aware that he had acquired a tail. A vein of black ice raced in sync with his stride on either side. They showed no signs of having trouble keeping up and tried to trip him, but Volibear managed to out play each attempt.

 _"Was my offer not enough, Voli?"_ Lissandra's disembodied voice sounded ghastly and wholly unpleasant to those close enough to hear. It was everywhere and everything deadly about the Freljord: the wind that bit, the snow that fell, the ice that cracked. From the ground a pool of black ice gathered together to form a claw— it was a sign of Lissandra's arrival.

 _"Perhaps you should reconsider. I could always use a pet."_

Volibear was not concerned with whatever the ice witch was saying. He was making calculations in his head as he ran: if he made it to the village the Ursine could help him take down Lissandra. His ego was not so inflated that it obscured rational thought, he knew he could not take her on alone. He saw bears abandoning their tasks and racing to his aid, but their help would be too late. Olaf was running toward him too and was less than a yard away when the black ice merged together and Lissandra sprang forth. She struck Olaf in the chest with the flat of her hand and the barbarian was catapulted into the dark like rubbish.

"Olaf!"

 _"You should choose more friends on the winning side."_ The same hand Lissandra used to dispatch Olaf was stretched toward the cavalry of bears and a wall of ice rose to separate Volibear from help. It stretched to the heavens with black, cruel fingers and sealed the two of them in a circular prison. _"Are you sure you don't want to reconsider? I rarely make this offer twice."_

"Once was already too much." Volibear kept his eyes locked with the visor mounted on Lissandra's head. The courage he held on to was slipping through of his paws. He found it hard to think as he gazed at the dread woman; he was almost fully under the spell of the Ice Witch.

 _"Nothing to say?"_ Lissandra drifted closer to the shaman and placed a clawed hand on his shoulder. _"That's okay, I'll do all the talking."_

* * *

Illaoi felt very small against the wall. It would have inspired fear in her heart if she were a priestess of a lesser god, but she was the right hand of Nagakabouros and She was not a god to be beaten. The wall did not scare her and neither did Lissandra.

"You… don't…know…who…you're…dealing…with!" Each word was punctuated by a hit from the Eye of God. The stone produced a dull echo that was felt in her arms rather than heard over the din surrounding her. Illaoi wondered if Lissandra could hear it on the other side and if the witch's blood ran cold knowing her end was near. If only they could break through...

The fifteen minute mark was nearing and Illaoi's body was growing tired. The armored bears around her were realizing this too and some had taken turns in attacking the wall and resting, then resuming their work. It was disheartening to see their best efforts had done little more than scratch the surface of the black ice. Without Ursa their morale would fall long before Lissandra's wall did.

But what was this? Illaoi pulled her relic back to look at what could be considered a crack. She staggered forward to get a better look, doubtful that she was responsible for this success. The bear closest paused to take a second look at what Illaoi thought to be a crack...

...

On the other side of the wall Lissandra stared deeply into her quarry's eyes. She already had her way with him and was keeping him hostage for her own enjoyment, but she was becoming tired of her own game. Trundle had said that she never knew when to quit, but he was just an idiot who had gotten his position based on how quickly he could kill the troll in power. Lissandra was not a base creature like her hired help; she planned on achieving her position via cunning and intellect. If everyone played their part, Freljord would devolve into the chaos she had been trying to achieve for the past four centuries.

" _Ugh_." Lissandra gripped the scruff of Volibear's neck and dragged him through the snow behind her as she traveled the length of barrier looking for the one making it very hard to enjoy her success. Her ice wall served as a one-way glass in that she could see the bears on the opposite side and they could not see her. It would easy to snipe them from this side by shooting an icicle into their head when they got too close. She'd done it before.

Lissandra stopped in front of a dark-skinned woman and lowered herself until she was on the same level as she. The woman swung her glowing rock at eye level over and over, shouting to herself rather than the bears beside her. From this side of the ice Lissandra could see spiderweb cracks appearing after each blow; eventually the woman took notice and she stopped banging to take a closer look at her handiwork. Her bright yellow eyes were six inches away from where Lissandra stood.

 _I could stick a spike right there…_ The ice witch touched the spot on the ice where she could send a spike to dispatch the pest. It was aimed at the center of her forehead.

...

...It was definitely a crack and there were several of them. Illaoi was seconds away from swinging the stone when a semi-transparent tentacle smashed into the wall, spraying her and the other bear with snow and ice. Two more dragged them back just in time to miss being skewered by a deadly spike and dumped them a safe distance back. Around her other bears were being yanked away from the ice by Nagakabouros' ghostly appendages. There must have been hundreds of bears, but the serpent god never ran out of arms.

"Get back, get back!" Ursa's voice rang out over the fear and confusion. At some point she had joined the fray and was providing much needed support to her kin. She ushered disoriented villagers toward safety, keeping an eye out for those who were wandering the wrong way. A smaller figure caught her attention. "Illaoi! _Illaoi!"_ The priestess was walking back toward the wall— what was she doing? " _Illaoi!"_

A bear stumbled into Illaoi and her shining profile was exposed to Ursa: greenish-blue lights were coming from her facial tattoos as well as her pupil-less eyes. There'd be no stopping whatever Illaoi was about to do.

...

Lissandra should have killed her when she had the chance. How could anyone have known a god was on her side? That was hardly fair! All Lissandra could do was curse as the tentacles took her targets out of range. _"Damn."_ She still had a card up her sleeve. Every smart witch did.

...

Illaoi raised the Eye of God above her head and brought it down on a protruding icicle. On a much larger scale, Nagakabouros mirrored her movement and came down on Lissandra's ice fort with her glowing tentacles. The walls fractured as if they were made from gingerbread rather than ice. All it would take was one more hit and they would fall. Evidently that was enough for Nagakabouros who withdrew her appendages.

Illaoi didn't need anymore divine help than that. Just as she was about to hack her way through the weakened wall, Ursa charged forward on all fours and created a hole the perfect size for theM to go through. The walls groaned ominously and it wasn't until she was through that Illaoi understood why Ursa had done this. If the whole clan had stampeded the wall it would have fallen and killed more than just one person. Illaoi was glad the ice had held and that she was not alone in rescuing Volibear.

With the light from the totem, Illaoi got a look at the third sister. She had seen Ashe and Sejuani, and half expected to see another white-haired, lean-built woman in her late 20's, but this… _thing..._ was not it. Lissandra was barely even human: her skin was blue and her hands ended in talons, her clothes were black and tattered like a scarecrow's, and she had a helmet made of ice obscuring her face. She was a monster.

"Volibear!" Ursa's stronger eyes had found him in the dark. He did not respond.

 _"You're too late!"_ Lissandra lifted her hand in the direction of Volibear's slumped body and before either rescuer could do anything to help him, he was encased of a frozen tomb high above their heads. They rushed to the base of the pillar and were dismayed to find it made of the almost impenetrable ice as the walls. It would take a miracle and a god to break it.

Illaoi watched the witch project a blue claw from her body and disappear into the ground after it. Where did she go? The rest of the prison was empty. "Leave him, we have to follow her."

"No, let the witch go."

"She can't be far." Illaoi continued as if Ursa had not spoken. The bear did not stop trying to break the ice tomb. "Come!" Illaoi couldn't understand why the chief was throwing an opportunity away. She took a running leap at the far wall and crashed through totem first.

She would end this fight.

* * *

 **a/n:** Prepare for part three of chapter 10 to be posted within the week *fingers crossed* It's taken almost two months to finish due to school and other dumb stuff, but I want to finish this segment before the new school year starts. Please ignore the shitty grammar that has become this chapter. I've written almost each segment at 3 in the morning and i know it makes no sense. Once all three parts are together and edited it should read better.

In case I don't get to y'all in time: happy new year!


	12. Enemy of My Enemy Pt3

**a/n:** Sorry it took forever to release this chapter. Thanks for your follows, faves, and PMs- my goal for the new year is to have a more consistent update schedule! Happy 2019 :)

* * *

"Where have you been?"

Illaoi shrugged off Olaf's efforts to slow her down. He tried pulling on the Eye of God and received a swift clobbering from Nagakabouros. His second attempt was rewarded with a smarting slap across the face by the priestess. None of this was enough to deter him.

"Hey! You can't just ignore me— stop walking!" This time Olaf stepped into her path and was promptly removed by a tentacle. Illaoi crossed through the hub of the village with her irritating 'shadow' in tow. The weight of the bags under her eyes threatened to drag her down, but she had a mission that would not be slowed by sleep or dim-witted barbarians.

The infirmary was her first stop. Thanks to Nagakabouros' help there were few patients to deal with, but Illaoi was not concerned with their well-being or recovery. What she was looking for was not there. The unlikely duo went up to the stable and left empty handed; they left the auditorium and temple with the same success. Finally, the journey stopped outside the closed doors of Volibear's residence.

"Stop! You can't go in there. He doesn't want to be disturbed."

Illaoi looked down, _really_ looked, and saw Olaf for the first time. His eyes were framed by pearly half-moons, likely from the lack of sleep, and his lips were chapped to the point of drawing blood. Ice and snow had settled into his mustache and beard, giving him a hoary appearance. Just behind his shoulder a makeshift camp had been set up; two axes stuck out of the snow beside a sleeping bag and the sad remains of a fire.

Illaoi shook her arm free. "I don't have time for this." She ignored Olaf's continued protests and pounded on the wooden door. It swung open on the second thump, leading the priestess to believe it was not latched properly in the first place. A wave of stale air blew out.

Olaf thrust his way through the gap under Illaoi's arm and took an aggressive stance. "Are you deaf?! Go away!"

From within the home came Sejuani's hoarse voice. "Have you no respect for the dead?" Her pale face emerged from the dim interior like a ghostly apparition. Time seemed to slow as Olaf and Illaoi beheld the Freljord's princess. White hair clung to her sweaty forehead and neck, framing a haggard face. "Are you just going to stand there?"

"What're— why are you- Volibear?" Olaf spluttered. In answer, the door was opened further.

Olaf and Illaoi entered.


End file.
